


Ain't Misbehavin'

by kirakii



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Human, Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Cannibalism, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mild Gore, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Serial Killers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, mild stalking, radio host
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakii/pseuds/kirakii
Summary: Alastor Leveau is a beloved and charismatic radio host in 1930 New Orleans. He uses it to his advantages to get what he really wants and to satisfy his dark urges. Anthony D'Angeli has run away from his mafia family and ended up on the streets with addiction and sex work filling his days as he listens to a famous radio hosts show everyday. The only highlight of his usually abysmal day. What happens when he gets the chance to meet his idol in person? Will he take the opportunity? Or will he only make a decision that he will regret? What happens when he sees something that he shouldn't? Will it change how he views his radio idol or will he become more intrigued by the darker side of that beautiful voice?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Husk & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 145
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

“...I don't stay out late  
Don't care to go  
I'm home about eight  
Just me and my radio  
Ain't misbehavin'  
I'm savin' my love for you.”

“That everyone was Ain’t Misbehavin’ by our good man Fats Waller. Yes indeedy. I hope everyone enjoyed that good ol’ tune. There will be more after a brief report of the news today. It seems that with the stock market crash last year, many have been laid off from their jobs and many losing their fortunes on the market, but there are rumors spreading that there may be recovery on the way from the President and some of his new social programs, more on that in the political segment at six! Next to more local news,” The man grinned behind his microphones. Cheeks pulled up into a tight smirk, flashing his straight white teeth. His eyes flicked to the lit light box with the works ‘ON AIR’ written on it in bold. He shuffled the papers in his hands. Behind the glass a man sat; headphones over one of his ears and a bored, disgruntled look on his face. “I apologize to all those with sensitivities as the information about to be shared may be hard for some to hear. There have been reports of people going missing around New Orleans, and then their bodies showing up in the few weeks after their disappearance with their bodies desecrated and organs missing upon inspection. Now I can’t give anymore information out than that, but the police have requested that I issue a warning to those that might be of a higher risk. It is said to avoid walking home alone at night and to avoid the alleys and those places where people aren’t want to look. If anyone has any information that could be pertinent to the investigation, please feel free to contact the police station or call the tip line. You can ask the phone operators for the number to that line. Now on to other news, the mayoral election results have come in and Mister Magne has won in a landslide for another term in office. Let’s all give our congratulations. And with it being January and all, everyone be sure to dress for the weather and keep an eye out for the possibility of snow, even though the event is unlikely. Remember my name is Alastor Leveau and on to our next little ditty. West End Blues by Louis Armstong.” 

He slipped the record needle onto the track and watched as the light turned off above the glass, signaling he could lean away from the microphone. Alastor rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair as the voice crooned for him. He watched the black record spin on the gramophone, the needles moving along the almost imperceptible ridges. Alastor looked through his box upon box of records. He readied the next record, about to slip it into the gramophone after the song ended and the channel switched to a commercial. 

The door to the other room opened and the man ducked his head out of the production room. His black hair greased back along his scalp. Heavy mutton chops along his temple and down to his jaw. A permanent scowl around his lit cigarette. 

“How did I sound, Husker, my friend.” 

“Good as always, Alastor.” He breathed out the grey smoke, darting back inside the booth. “Keep it up.” Husk grumbled before settling back into his chair and placing the large headphone back over his ears. 

The latest song finished. Alastor cleared his throat and waited for that light to spark to life again and mean his microphone was live. “Welcome back everyone. That one was Sugar recorded for your very pleasure by Ethel Waters.” 

Alastor went off, talking about jazz and music and about more of the news of their busy little down. Everything from the crackdown on illegal speakeasies still trying to get away from the selling of alcohol, to the rise of the national unemployment and the work the President Hoover was trying to do, working with the banks and railroads. He also discussed some of the reforms and plans to help combat the national crisis of the Great Depression that Mayor Magne had pushed forward during his reelection campaign. Mostly he played music. His favorite topics were jazz and swing artists and musicians. However he couldn’t get away filling most of the day with only talks of them.

“Now it is the time of the segment where we take calls from our listeners. If you are interested in getting your voice on the radio for a few minutes, call up the operator and they will get you the number to call. First caller, what have you got to say this evening, remember it must be family friendly, we can’t have anything else on this wonderful station of ours.” 

“Uh, ‘ello Mista’ Alastor, wowie it’s a pleasure to be allowed on the show. I was wonderin’ if I could ask for a certain song?” A young woman spoke through the telephone speaker. Her voice thickened with a southern drawl that Alastor had spent most of his life trying to rid himself of. 

“Of course, darling, what can I play for you?” 

“Duke Ellington’s Creole Love Call, please, Mista’ Alastor.” 

Most of the callers were like that, requesting songs or topics for Alastor to talk about on another show. Some were from more excited and less refined fans, telling Alastor about their love and devotion for him and his show. If he scowled, he would’ve at their declarations. There was the occasional guest that wanted to talk about politics, the Depression, Prohibition, the Mob, any combination of those. Most of the time Alastor had to calm them down or cut them off by switching to another caller. As the crash was still pretty fresh, most still had questions and strong opinions. Don’t forget the large uptake of orphans. 

His grin almost widened at the thought. So entertaining it was to listen to these people who had no idea how to deal with the cards dealt to them or to enjoy the stage role they’ve been told to play. He almost got bored with the monotony of it all. That was until towards the end of the caller hour when a voice perked his interest. 

“Heyya, Mista’ Leveau.” The voice was hard to tell if it was feminine or masculine. It was quiet, soft. “I’ve been a fan of ya show since I arrived in New Orleans. It helped me through a tough time with the move and all and I wanna to say thank ya. There’s been a lotta shi--crap goin’ on lately. So, I wanna invite you to join me for dinner. It’s a way of thankin’ ya. I know ya probably won’t come, but if ya interested, I sent the information to da station in advance in case I didn’t get into da show. I’ll be waiting.” The caller hung up before Alastor even had a chance to say something in regards to invite. 

“Thank you for the calls this hour, my dear listeners. Here are a couple more records for you to enjoy before I sign off for the night.” The song played and came to an end, along with some of the other requested tunes. “Everyone have a wonderful day and remember to look at life with a smile on your face. I’m Alastor Leveau and goodnight.” 

The light clicked off for the last time that day. 

Husk turned everything off in the production room and popped out of the booth. A heavy leather and wool jacket thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders. Smoke billowed around his face. His black eyes glowed behind the cherry of his cigarette as he waited for Alastor, leaning against the wall of glass that separated the recording room and production room. He slipped a flask out from the lining of his jacket and took a heavy swig of it. With a flick of his fingers, he sent a small white envelope sliding across the desk in front of the radio host. 

Alastor picked up the unsealed letter, scanning over the contents, tucking it into the pocket of his grey vest. He pulled out a gold pocket watch from the opposite pocket and checked the time. Just after seven. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Husker.” Alastor placed a brown jug from his messenger bag onto the desk. Husk shoved it into his own bag underneath the newspaper and used food wrappings. 

He scoffed. “They make it so easy for you sometimes, Al.” 

His grin sharpened. His brown eyes glowed behind his round glasses. A look that Husk recognized many times and wanted nothing to do with. A look of pure hunger. A look of excitement. A look of the possibility of true, unbridled entertainment for Alastor. 

“See ya tomorrow.” Husk shoved past Alastor, waiting in the hall. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” He locked up the studio when the radio host sauntered out. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He bowed low and disappeared into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Alastor hopped off the streetcar and ended up in the bustling french quarter. A couple streets off from the infamous Bourbon Street and closer to the Mississippi. He had enough time to run to his apartment a bit outside the city and change into a black vest and red button up with his signature red and black overcoat. He slipped his long fingers into black gloves, adjusting his bowtie. 

He double checked the letter in his pocket, making sure he got the place right. Loud jazz music spilled out of the brick building and onto the street, already making his excitement rise. At least they knew how to pick a good place for dinner. Live music always did make things more interesting. He approached the front desk, looking the attendant over. She was a brunette like him. Her hair tied up into a tight bun with an apron across her waist. 

“What can I do for you fella, got a reservation?” 

“Yes, indeedy, I believe the name is under Leveau. Alastor Leveau” The letter told him that the reservation would be under his own name. A strange choice. He still didn’t know the name of his dinner date. Another curious choice. 

“Oh, Mista’ Leveau. I’m a big fan of your show. You really do have a voice fit for the radio. Let me show you to your table.” 

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a fan.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back, following behind her fast pace as she dodged through patrons and servers alike in the packed restaurant. 

She settled him into a table close to the jazz band and placed a menu in front of him. “If you need anythin’ feel free to ask me directly. Your server will be right with ya.” 

“Thank you, dear.” 

The server came up to him and he ordered a latte and a water, intent on watching the band until his date eventually arrived. 

The coffee wasn’t overly bitter, cut by the milk, but also not overly sweet, just like he liked it. He looked over the menu, deciding what he would possibly feel like ordering; only one meal was particularly on his mind, but they didn’t serve that here. That was one that he reserved for the seclusion of his home. 

As song after song played and minutes turned into an hour, Alastor tapped his fingertips against the clothed tabletop. He had finished his coffee over a half hour ago and had been sipping languidly on his water. Alastor caught the concerned gaze of the waitstaff as it got closer to an hour and a half. The pity on their faces turned his stomach. Bile burned at the back of his throat. However his face kept the same excited grin that he always wore, keeping his anger simmering below the surface. Eventually the band began to clear away and clean up. Alastor paid for his drinks and left the restaurant, almost steaming.

Never. Never in his life had he ever been invited out only to be stood up. That would not stand. He would not let it. 

Alastor clenched his hands into tight fists behind his back. He caught the gaze of the hostess again as he left and she shot him a look of pure pity. That look boiled his blood. No one was allowed to pity him. No one should have been able to put him in that situation to begin with. His hands tightened. Knuckles turned white beneath his gloves. As he left the restaurant, Alastor ducked off towards an alleyway in the back, disappearing amongst the shadows. He pulled out a silver cigarette case engraved with his initials AEL engraved into the front. A gift from his mother. He struck the top of the match with his thumb and brought the flame to the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Alastor had some to kill, and he needed to calm his nerves. His excitement rose, replacing the still simmering anger. 

Another hour passed and he smoked through a couple of his cigarettes. Whenever the backdoor to the restaurant opened, his gaze flickered to the person silhouetted in the doorway, but it was never who he had in mind. Another hour passed before he had his chance. 

He tossed the half smoked cigarette onto the ground, stomping it out with his heel as he spotted the feminine silhouette exit the restaurant. The hostess untied her hair and let it hang along her shoulders, running her hands through it and across her scalp. She stretched her slender arms above her head and popped her spine. 

Alastor watched. Smile grew wider. Menace radiated from him as he tucked his hands onto his pocket. He rolled his steps, making them almost imperceptibly quiet as he approached around the trashcans and up to the backdoor of the restaurant. The hostess took a couple steps away from the door and stretched out her legs. A groan escaped her lips. She turned away from the shadowed alley and moved to return back to the restaurant when Alastor took the opportunity. 

He clasped a gloved hand over her mouth. The other hand brought a switchblade up to her neck, holding the sharp edge against the soft curve of her throat. Hard enough to cut through the skin and cause a small sliver of blood to drip down her porcelain flesh.She began to whimper, almost moving to scream, but couldn’t against his iron grip.

“Shush darling. We wouldn’t want you getting hurt now would we? It would be best if you take a deep breath and stop resisting.” Her nails dug into the jacket of his forearm, but he ignored his fervent grasp. “My plans were ruined this evening, so I guess you will have to do.” 

Alastor moved them deeper into the alley, away from prying eyes and into his home in the shadows. He always felt safest there. He slammed her into the cobbled ground, towering over her as he straddled her. She looked positively delicious with her face scrunched up in fear and tears streaming down her plump cheeks, but he knew he didn’t have a chance to take her away and get everything he wanted out of her. He removed his hand from her mouth and she opened it to scream, but before she could his fingers delved into her mouth and grabbed her tongue. She gagged and choked out a scream. He moved so that one knee pressed down on her throat. 

“We can’t have you doing that now, darling. We are only getting started.” His fingers yanked her tongue out of her mouth. He slipped his knife passed her lips and sliced deftly into the muscle and cut it clean out of her mouth. He held the tongue out in front of him as it dangled over her face, dripping blood onto her unblemished skin. He pulled out a small cloth bag and dropped the tongue inside. “Something is better than nothing. A small snack for later as I haven’t actually gotten any dinner.” 

He slipped his knife into the corner of both of her cheeks, slicing the skin upward into an aching grin. “Smile, dear. You always look better with a smile.” 

Alastor retracted the knife and gazed down at her torso, aiming the point of the knife above her presumed navel. He tore the clothes away from her, trying to get a good look at the soft flesh that protected the organs he ached to taste. With the pesky clothes out of the way, he pressed the knife into the soft fat of her belly. Red blood bubbled up as he pressed the knife deeper into. The hostess grabbed and scratched at him, but it was futile as her strength was draining. The knife moved up until it was blocked by her sternum. He tore at the skin, peeling and cutting it away until her insides were exposed. Alastor dug around with wandering fingers until he found the liver and cut it away from the rest of the body, placing it into another bag in his pocket. That’s all he had room for on his person. 

He caught her face again, still some life clinging in those eyes of her. Widened from pure, unadulterated terror and wet with tears. The memory of the pitiful look she gave him. Of the look of adoration replaced with sympathy. Alastor raised his knife and plunged them down into her eye and then into the other. Over and over until her eyes were nothing but a mushy pudding and her face was no longer recognizable. 

“You shouldn’t give strangers your pity.” Alastor laughed. “I guess now you never will again, dear.” 

He took out a handkerchief from the back pocket of his pants as he stood, wiping down the blade before tucking it back into the handle and into his pocket next to the bloody bags. Alastor took off his glasses, making sure to go over his face, even though he was pretty certain he hadn’t gotten much on him this time. No one would even be able to really tell as his jacket was the same color as blood and it blended into his balck gloves. He readjusted his clothes and looked himself over in the compact mirror he kept on his person for this very purpose. Everything looked right as rain. He fluffed his bowtie and exited the alleyway, making sure no one else was around before taking the long walk home, enjoying the brisk winter evening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter that I hope you all enjoy!

Anthony leaned against the brick wall of one of the shops lining Bourbon Street. A cigarette lit between his slender fingers. He stood off on the corner with some of the other girls, dressed in their signature looks. For him, it was a powder pink slip with white thigh highs and tall black boots. Heavy pink rouge on his cheekbones, softening them and accentuating the feminie heart shape of his face. Dark kohl lined his eyelids, making everyone look towards the unusual coloring of them. Most of the time, he didn’t work the streets, holed up in the clubs or in the bed of a client, but tonight was special. Anthony had more free reign to find whatever John he wanted for the hour. Of course, it was especially dangerous for him to be out there on the corner as he had the added trouble of being a man, a whore, and a queer. So, unless the John knew what to look for, Anthony blended in well with the other women he worked with, trying not to get the shit kicked out of him for the night. 

He shifted in his heeled boots, taking a long and slow drag. His platinum blond hair hung in curls around his chin, longer in the back. It was just before sunset. The sky stained orange and red and blue as night closed in on the warm rays of sunlight. After the sun disappeared below the horizon would the true job begin. Most wouldn’t even look their way with the sun up, but it seemed that as long as the sun had disappeared, people were more likely to give into their primal urges. Luckily he would be off soon until his next shift at the club the following evening.

Anthony hummed to himself around the cigarette, taking in the vestiges of the radio being played out of a shop’s window. It was one of his favorites, and if he had the opportunity or had been alone, he would’ve probably started singing and dancing to it. The song ended and an even more beautiful tone spilled out of the radio’s speakers. 

“Welcome back everyone. That one was Sugar recorded for your very pleasure by Ethel Waters.” The radio host spoke. His voice deep and rolling, the hint of a southern accent through the radio static, but suppressed and hidden that if Anthony didn’t know it, he wouldn’t have assumed the host was from New Orleans. 

He listened to the radio host talk and talk on and on about whatever was on his mind, half surprised that the shop kept it up when it no longer played music as often. However with a voice that could capture the hearts of anyone without even seeing the host’s face, it made since that everyone would listen to it. Anthony wondered what it would be like to hear that voice without the bit of radio static or without the performative level behind it. It was one of the first looks he ever got into New Orleans when he hopped off the train and onto the awaiting platform to hear him discussing a newly released record that he had been anticipating. Ever since, Anthony tried to listen to the show every chance he had, but more often than not, of late, he was working and unable to enjoy it. Eventually it moved on to his least favorite part of the show, where he was forced to listen to other people talk as they were phoned into the show. No one sounded as nice or seemed to have as much of an enthusiasm for the radio. However there was always plenty of enthusiasm for the host. 

As no one had really approached the girls, or him, on the corner, Anthony ducked away, his gaze focused on the telephone box not too far away. He slipped behind the glass door of the booth and dug around his wallet, strapped beneath the slip to his hip, and pulled out a nickel. His nose scrunched up at the stench of stale sweat and piss that he was surrounded by in the booth. Anthony should’ve been used to those types of smells by now, but that didn’t mean he liked them. He dropped the coin into the machine and dialed up the operator. 

“Who can I patch you to?” The operator crooned into the other end of the receiver. 

“WNOR, please. The Leveau broadcast.” 

There was a moment of static on the other end of the line before he was transferred. “WNOR, hold on a moment.” A gruff voice spoke on the other end of the receiver. “You’re next up after this caller, remember to keep whatever it is you have to say under three minutes and keep it family friendly. If you go and say somethin’ you shouldn’t you will be kicked from the broadcast without another word. Got it?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Get ready, kid, you’re up.” 

“Welcome to WNOR, what brings you to call?” The host kept his cheery attitude, but there was an almost disinterest behind his voice that no one would be able to recognize if they didn’t have almost every one of his shows memorized. 

Anthony took a deep breath. His heart hammered against his ribcage and jumped into his throat as he began to speak. “Heyya, Mista’ Leveau. I’ve been a fan of ya show since I arrived in New Orleans. It helped me through a tough time with the move and all and I wanna to say thank ya. There’s been a lotta shi--crap goin’ on lately. So, I wanna invite you to join me for dinner. It’s a way of thankin’ ya. I know ya probably won’t come, but if ya interested, I sent the information to da station in advance in case I didn’t get into da show. I’ll be waiting.” Before even giving the host a chance to respond, he slammed the telephone down on the machine. 

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the palpitations. Anthony leaned back against the opposite wall of the booth, sinking to the floor. He hugged his knees to his chest. A crimson flush flooded his cheeks and burned the tips of his ears. A part of him couldn’t believe it. He had actually gotten to say something to the radio host. He actually got to be on his show. Even for the shortest of a moment. Anthony had sent that letter last week, when he knew he would have the evening off, hoping that he would get the chance to meet his celebrity crush, but he never thought about what that would actually mean when the night arrived. He pulled himself off the bottom of the telephone, looking himself over to make sure he didn’t end up sitting in chewing gum, piss, or vomit. 

With a swing of his hips, Anthony hopped out of the booth and down the street, heading towards his small apartment. He ignored the catcalls and jeers, only ever responding with an eyeroll or for some of the particularly disgusting comments a grin and flutter of the lashes. He dug out his keys on the slender silver chain attached to the garter at his hips and unlocked the wrought iron door that led to the set of outdoor stairs into the apartment complex. Anthony hip checked the door to his small apartment open and slammed it shut behind him. 

“Yo, Cherry, you home?” He called out as he flicked the lightswitch by the door. 

Anthony looked around the small living room and kitchen, spotting a note on the kitchen counter. He looked it over quickly, already pulling the slip off and over his head. 

'Had some work to do. Be home late. Have fun on your date, babe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Love you.'

Simple and to the point. Very Cherry. A part of him wished that his roommate was home to give him a pep talk before he left for the evening. 

“Don’t do anything you wouldn’t? Bitch there’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do.” Anthony chuckled to himself. “That’s probably why we are best friends. Need a bad bitch to party with.” 

He dug around in a kitchen cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, or as close as he could get to whiskey with the pesky prohibition. Anthony brought the bottle with him back to his bedroom when he stripped out of the lingerie. Setting the bottle on the bathroom sink, he turned the shower on and hopped in. If he was going to meet his idol, he wanted to make sure that he looked his very best. Anthony scrubbed the sweat and stench of cigarettes and other people’s hands from his skin and hair. It’s not that he minded his work, most of the time he enjoyed it, but he didn’t want to meet him smelling and looking like a hooker. 

Anthony had heard plenty about the New Orleans based and born radio host since he arrived. Most of them seemed to imply that he was as proper a gentleman as you could get without being a priest. However, Anthony didn’t exactly trust most priests either. A man that wasn’t known for indulging in any sins, no drinking or discreet meetings with whores. And he had made the point to ask around, but there was nothing. The man didn’t even seem to date, even though he had all the women wrapped around his finger and probably every queer man. 

He turned off the shower and stepped out, taking a swig from the bottle of whiskey. Anthony poked and prodded at his face and body in the mirror. Short, slender limbs. Narrow hips and shoulders. A small, round scar through the middle of his abdomen, just above his pelvis. The healing bruises on his upper thighs and along his back. They used to be a purple that boarded on black, but now they were a sickly brownish yellow. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it out. 

As Anthony ran his hands over the bruises, his thoughts drifted. He grabbed the bottle of liquor by the neck and chugged a good third of it down. It burned the back of his throat and settled to warm his belly. Anthony swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Let’s fucking do this.” He stared down his gaze in the mirror. Mismatched eyes stared back at him. One a muddy brown. The other a pale blue that almost looked grey. “He’s just another guy. I got nothing to be freaking out about.” He tossed his hair back, leaving the bathroom. 

Anthony dug through his closet. Over half of it filled with women’s clothes, but he knew he couldn’t go out in any of his feminine looks. He didn’t want to get his ass beat before meeting him. That would not be a good look to show up with. He pulled on a pair of white and black pinstripe slacks, buttoning up a white dress shirt, leaving the top few buttons loose, clipping a set of suspenders to his waistband and letting them dangle off his hips. Anthony pulled his long hair into a ponytail at his nape, dusting his face with some foundation and concealer to hide the faded bruise around his eye socket. He topped it off with a newsboy cap.

“Fuck.” Anthony angled himself in front of the standing mirror. “You looking fucking hot as a man too.” 

He checked the time and swore. Anthony wanted to get to the restaurant early to scope the palace out, but if he didn’t leave that minute, he wouldn’t get the time. He sprinted out of the apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. As he entered the thrum of the French Quarter, even busy on a Wednesday night, he slowed down and began to walk at a more leisurely pace. The smell of the water hit him first. A familiar and calming sense that washed over him. He took a deep breath and walked into the restaurant. 

Anthony halted in his step before the hostess desk. His heart leapt into his throat and simultaneously sunk to his patent leather dress shoes. 

“Oh, Mista’ Leveau. I’m a big fan of your show. You really do have a voice fit for the radio. Let me show you to your table.” 

It wasn’t just a voice fit for radio, it was a face that was fit for the picture shows, not hidden behind a beautiful voice. A part of him couldn’t believe that this man was the radio host, but all doubts were silenced when he heard him speak.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a fan.” 

For a moment, his voice sounded different, but it was the lack of static, otherwise it was still the same voice that could send shivers down his spine. And now he had a face to put with that voice. A devilishly handsome face to boot. Golden brown skin. A dark brown messy mop of hair. His brown eyes alight with a hidden joy behind them. Broad shoulders accentuated by a slim waist and narrow hips. He was a good head taller than Anthony. 

Anthony watched his retreating back. Eyes glued to the scarlet suit jacket he wore. He watched the radio host weave through the crowd with ease, others eyes watching him, but the host didn’t seem to even notice. 

“Can I help you?” The hostess returned with a smile plastered on her face.

“Um yeah. I’ve a res--” Anthony stopped himself. His stomach tied up in twists and knots, constricting his chest and making it hard for him to calm his breathing. He clenched his fists, digging fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms. “I was hopin’ to see if I could getta table? Near the band?”

The hostess clicked her tongue as she looked over her book. “Luckily for ya, we have one table open. Just for ya?”

“Yeah.” 

Anthony didn’t care about the look the hostess gave him, only that the table she sat him in gave him an eyeline to the radio host. He rested his head atop his hand as he watched. A part of him argued that he was only watching until he gained enough confidence to walk over there and sit himself down on that table. A part of him knew that was a lie. Even after going through the effort of making the reservation, sending the invitation, and calling up the station, he would never go and introduce himself to the radio host. Never go and formally say hello to the handsome man in red. Anthony wished he had another drink, or something harder, maybe then he could go up to the radio host. 

He ordered himself a hot chocolate and a salad, just so that he didn’t get kicked out by the waitstaff as he watched. He pushed the food around the plate for the next couple hours, only taking his eyes off the host when the server came to talk to him. Anthony watched as the host paid his tab and stood to leave. If Anthony was going to do anything, this was going to be his last chance. 

But the smile on the radio host’s face kept him seated in his chair. There wasn’t an ounce of disappointment or displeasure behind that pearly grin, but the eyes on the other hand. The eyes held a much darker emotion behind their chocolate color. One that he probably wouldn’t even have been able to recognize if he hadn’t grown up the way he had. Anthony swallowed drily. 

The radio host left without Anthony ever saying a word to him. He sat stiffly in his seat, staring at the table the host had been at for hours after he left. After it had been cleaned and a new customer had taken over. He quickly paid the bill and gathered his hat to head out the door. Anthony looked over to the hostess stand, seeing the woman gone, assuming she went home for the night. 

As he exited the restaurant, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a match, striking it against a nearby wall. Anthony turned to head down an alleyway behind the restaurant when he stopped in his tracks. 

“You shouldn’t give strangers your pity.” 

The words halted Anthony in his place. A chuckle that sent shivers down his bones as it rolled off the tongue. He couldn’t see anything, as the alleyway was almost pitch black. His heart hammered in his ears like a warning bell or a wardrum. 

“I guess now you never will again, dear.” 

Those words released him from the trance. Anthony ducked back out of the alleyway and ran to hide behind the other wall of the restaurant. He got a glimpse of red as he peered out from behind his hiding spot. The radio host bounced down the street, whistling a tone to himself. Anthony blew out the last dregs of smoke and stomped out his cigarette. As soon as the radio host was no longer in eyesight, he dipped back into the alley. 

Anthony kneeled down over the body. Head cocked to the side as he took in the scene before him. Her mouth was filled with blood, leaking out the massive cuts in her cheeks. She was unrecognizable as the hostess, only her dress gave her away, as there was almost no longer a face to identify. Except for the smile carved into her skin. A prominent feature on her desecrated corpse. The disembowelment was clean and thorough, barely any of the organs slipping out of the side or out of place. 

“Huh.” The words spilled from Anthony’s mouth as a smirk began to tug on his lips. “I guess you ain’t as holier than thou as I thought, Alastor Leveau. Just whatcha up to?” 

He shrugged and stood back up, taking his time as he approached a telephone booth. Anthony didn’t close the door behind him this time. As he dialed up the authorities his smirk finally broke through. 

“Police. Yeah. There’s a body outside the back of the restaurant Le Chev. I think it might be that serial killer you guys have been after.” 

“Ok, sir, what’s your name? Did you see anything else?” At the mention of his name, Anthony pressed the hook on the telephone, ending the call. “Let’s see what you make of this, Alastor.”

He left the booth with a smirk and an idea brewing in his head. All the way back to his apartment he hummed. Not knowing it was the same tune that he heard whistled from the radio host.


	4. Chapter 4

“We welcome a special guest to the show today. Miss Charlotte Magne has come to talk about her new project in the city, that I also happen to be a financial backer of. As some of you may know, Miss Magne is the daughter of the mayor and has grown up in New Orleans. Now I’ll let her speak about her passion project.” 

Alastor gave the blond across the desk from him a nod. He watched take a deep breath and steel herself. She rolled her shoulders. Alastor leaned forward on the desk, resting his head in his hand as he eyed her. A less severe smile on his features.

“Thank you, Alastor, for having me on your show.” Charlotte tucked a stray strand back behind her ear. 

“Anytime, my dear.” 

“So, as we all know, the country is in a bit of a financial crisis at the moment with the stock market crash and the banks being unable to help. But I’m not here to talk politics. I’m here to talk about the new project I’ve been working on. I’m working on setting up a rehabilitation center for those under the influence and the homeless displaced during the financial crisis and crash. It will be a live in center out of the old hotel on the bayou that caters to a specific clientele. Those that don’t have anywhere else to go and live or get clean. Now I know with prohibition, that supposedly those habits shouldn’t be around, but I know there are plenty of those that still fall into that life and to those sins. My goal with this center is to create a safe place for those who want to better themselves will have the opportunity to without judgement for how they got the way they are in the first place.” 

“As I mentioned previously, I am a financial backer of this little endeavor that Miss Charlotte has proposed. So, it is also important to me to get the word out about the center. What can you say for those interested in the program and how to join?”

“Well, we have comendered one of my father’s old hotels that are no longer in use, about a half hour outside of the city. It’s a little far, but it's also on one of the main street car lines. It far enough outside the city to help discourage sin and usage, but also accessible for those that need to be near for work. If you have any interest in joining the program, then feel free to contact me at the hotel or even at my family home. Of course, I would think that Alastor could also point you in the direction of the center.” 

“Yes, my dear, however, I have to say that this is my own little project, so don’t go contacting the station to request information about the center.”

“Oh yes, yes. Sorry, I don’t mean to swamp the station or anything.” 

“As for what the program entails--”

Charlotte cut him off, “There will be no substance use or illicit behavior allowed once you join the program. However there won’t be any police called or legal ramifications for any of the patrons that join the programs. It is all about getting better and becoming a productive member of society. All we want is for our patrons to be safe and healthy and redeemed in the end.” 

“Thank you, Miss Magne, but that looks like all the time we have left for the show. If you listeners have any questions about the program that Miss Magne had brought to your attention, as a client or a funder, please feel free to reach out to the Magne estate.” Alastor sat up straighter. Smile sharp enough to kill. “Everyone have a wonderful night and remember to look at life with a smile on your face. I’m Alastor Leveau and goodnight.” 

Charlotte reached up and cracked her back and shoulders. “I think that went well.”

“Wonderfully, dear.” Alastor stood from his desk and slipped a grey suit coat over his shoulders. “It was wonderful to have you on the show, again.” 

“You sure that your listeners aren’t tired of hearing my voice.” 

“Ha ha. If they haven’t gotten tired of mine, I don’t think they’ll get tired of hearing you infrequently, Charlotte.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, you can call me Charlie.” She crossed around to his side of the desk, playfully knocking shoulders with him. “We’ve been friends for how long now, Alastor? I think you could be a little more casual.” 

“Probably close to twenty years.” 

“I wasn’t asking for an actual answer. I’ve known you since I learned how to walk. I think that you can call me Charlie.” 

Alastor sighed, “If you insist. But, on the show, you will still be Charlotte--”

“Or Miss Magne, I know. We can’t have your listeners think that we are that close. Especially because they would be wrong.” 

“Good job, kid.” Husk exited the production booth. “You might even get some interest in that rehab center of yours.” 

“With all the people that listen to Alastor’s show, I bet that the word will get around. Especially now that all the renovations have been completed. Are you still planning on coming by to check it out this evening, Alastor? To see how your money is being well spent?” She grinned up at him. 

“I said I was--”

“Oh Alastor~” 

The door to the studio slammed open. Alastor gritted his teeth behind his smile, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was really getting annoyed with being interrupted. He could handle Charlie, but this nuisance on the other hand. Alastor would rather punch the man’s teeth in. 

His grin spread wider to hide his disdain. “Evening, Vox. What can I do for you?”

The tall slender man leaned against the door frame to his recording studio. A black, pinstripe suit accented with a navy bowtie. His black hair slipped close to his scalp along the nape and the longer top slicked back. 

He pushed off against the door frame and wrapped an arm around Alastor’s shoulders, pressing his sharp chin into Alastor’s brow. “I was going to invite you to join me for dinner tonight, my good man. Oh, what a wonderful outing that would be.” 

Alastor tensed at the touch, eyes widening ever so slightly. He held back every instinct inside of him that demanded he shove him off and get a solid five feet away from Vox. His hands curled at his sides, almost looking like claws. 

“I would,” Alastor took a deep breath and slipped out of Vox’s grasp. He knew he couldn’t do anything to harm him, even if that’s all he desired at the moment. It was never good to kill you boss, that was too close to home, would make him a suspect too quickly. “But I already have plans tonight with Miss Charlotte.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your hot date with the mayor’s kid.” He eyed Charlie. His greys eyes followed every curve of her waist and hips, barely looking to his face. 

“It's no--” Charlie held up her hand. 

“Yes, of course. I can’t possibly skip out on our date, Charlie.” 

Charlie arched a blond brow. Husk shook his head behind Alastor’s shoulder, trying to get her not to question it until after Vox was out of earshot. 

“Just because you got out of dinner with me tonight, Al, doesn’t mean that you’ll always have a good excuse. We need to talk sometime. You and me.” 

“Of course. It would be a pleasure.” Alastor clasped his hands at the small of his back, trying to hide the fists forming. 

“Let me know when you are free.” Vox sauntered out of the recording studio, slamming the door shut behind him. 

“I wish I could say it would be a pleasure.” Alastor muttered under his breath. 

“What was that all about?” 

“Vox got promoted to being the one in charge of dealing with all the hosts for the station, over Alastor. And because of that, he’s been lording it over Alastor’s head.” Husk huffed out. 

“I see. But Alastor is the better person for the job, I thought, so why did he get passed up?” Husk waved his hand over him, mainly pointing out the tone of his skin. “Oh, yeah. I see.” 

“It’s fine when he’s a faceless radio host mainly talking about jazz and blues, but being the face of something...isn’t exactly the look that station wanted.”

Alastor sighed and rubbed his temple, “It’s not a big deal. It’s expected. I like hosting my show better, anyways, so don’t worry about my pride regarding the promotion.” Alastor had never been able to stand Vox, and Vox never liked him. It was a mutual hatred. However almost no one knew because the station heads didn’t want any drama between their hosts. “I want nothing to do with that arrogant, useless, sycophantic moron.” 

Charlie held out her elbow. “Let’s go get some dinner. I got promised a date from you, Alastor. Have a good night, James.” 

“Just call me Husk like everyone else.” 

“But you have such a nice first name.” Charlie watched as Husk rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight her on it.

“I’m sorry about that date nonsense, dear, but he assumed it and wasn’t pushing me to have dinner with him because of it, so I thought it was the best excuse I could get for the evening.” He linked his arm with Charlie’s and led her out of the studio. 

Husk locked up behind them, heading in the opposite direction and deeper into the building. Charlie lightly pulled her hand from Alastor’s hold to button up her long jacket against the January windchill. She slipped it back, placing it on his bicep. The muscle beneath flexed at the touch. Charlie knew he wasn’t the most comfortable with touch, but he was alright with little, platonic touch like this, but only from those he had known well. 

“So, where are you taking me to dinner?” She grinned up at him. 

“What are you in the mood for, dear?” 

“If I had to pick something, I would say that I really want your mama’s jambalaya. I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything, but I miss your mama’s cooking.” 

“I miss it too. Maybe another time. I don’t happen to have all the ingredients necessary to make, but possibly next week.” 

Charlie’s brown eyes lit up. “You mean it? That would be wonderful.” 

“Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t offer something and then go back on it.” 

“That’s true. You never were a liar.” She chuckled. “I remember that one time you tried to lie to your mama after you ended up breaking one of my mother’s flower pots, but she saw through it in an instant. Especially because you still had dirt in your hair.” 

For Charlie it was an innocent memory, but for Alastor, he knew what happened later than evening. He clenched his jaw at the memory of it. Charlie was the only good Magne in his book and there was nothing that was going to change his mind about that. When Lilith came home that night, she saw that her garden had been disturbed and his mother lied and said it was her fault, Lilith was furious, beating his mother for the perceived transgression. He never understood when she continued to work for them, but she did for over a decade and a half, all up to her untimely death. 

“...Alastor?”

He shook his head, trying to rid the dark memories and the anger beginning to bubble in his gut. “Yes, dear?”

“We never decided on where to go for dinner. Got a place in mind?” 

“I think I do. Trust me?”

“Always and forever, Alastor.” She leaned against his shoulder. “You’re one of the only friends my family let me have. I trust you more than anyone, well except--”

“That other ‘friend’ of yours.” Alastor smirked, raising a dark brow. He led them through the streets, bobbing and weaving through the Friday night crowds. “Even though she’s not exactly a friend.” 

“And how would you know that?”

“You aren’t exactly subtle, my dear.”

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Rude.”

Alastor chuckled. “The only more obvious you could get was if you wore hearts over your eyes. That’s how lovesick you look. It’s positively disgusting.” 

“You can’t believe that.” She hit him again. “Love is a redeeming quality, Alastor. Maybe you should try it out sometime.” 

“No thank you. It’s not something that I’m particularly looking for at the moment.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past twenty three years.”

“So the entirety of my life?”

“Exactly!” Charlie huffed. “One of these days, you’ll find someone that catches your eye. I know it.”

“If you say so, my dear.” He laughed softly. They approached a restaurant with a white brick front and ivy climbing up the walls. A line out the front and around the corner. “Looks like we’ve arrived.”

“Are we really doing this again?”

Alastor smirked down at her, “Let’s see which of our statuses will get us the table first.” 

“And whoever doesn’t, pays?”

“Like always. Do we have a deal?” He held out the hand she wasn’t curled into. 

Charlie matched his smirk, taking his hand, giving it a good shake. “You’re on, Mister Leveau.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know. The two love interests still haven't officially met. But they will soon, don't worry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sexual assault, even though, not graphic. At least I hope not. This is just a warning.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or opinion. I'd love to hear it!

Anthony swung his hips as he lowered himself to the ground. His ass pushed high into the air. He ran his hands over his chest and stomach and hips as the drum heavy music pulsed. His heartbeat pounded in time with the kick drum. His hips curved and moved with the sultry crooning of the other instruments. He danced and dipped and swung his body around the stage. His tight, pick leather shorts, if anyone could call them that, were short enough to be bloomers and let half of his ass hang out. He was shirtless, with a pink heart painted on his chest that trailed down his belly, the v of his hips, and beneath the waistband of his shorts. He wore a blond wig that hung down past his shoulders. 

He was both man and woman here. The look that a lot of the people who watched his shows desired. His body, masculine, but his face covered in pink makeup and glitter, with the wig looked feminine. The fishnet stockings ripped in strategic places. He ignored the growing pain in his ankles and feet from the heels as he continued to put on a show. 

Anthony withered and ached against the floor. Each movement of his body and limbs to make it look like sex, to get the audience to think about sex, to get them to think about fucking him. At this he was an expert. Each snap of the wrist, head, and hip was perfectly placed. Each thrust and wiggle and turn to sell the act, to sell him. The music ended with him on his knees, hips thrusted to the sky, and head thrown back with heavy lidded eyes and a heaving chest. 

Cheers erupted through the audiences. Along with jeers and propositions to fuck Anthony. He let the energy of the crowd and the high of the cocaine he snorted earlier propel him into the next set. 

He disappeared behind the velvet curtain to quickly change into his next outfit. The fishnet stockings were kept, but the shorts were replaced with a long white skirt with slits up both of the sids to his hips and a white fake corset. The wig’s pins double checked to make sure it didn’t come off during his dance. White angel wings were placed on his back. He grabbed the bottle of vodka that sat on the vanity and slammed it back. It burned down throat, but helped to steal his nerves.

The music started out low and slow, a soft sound. The lights darkened on the stage as he walked to his place in the middle of it. Anthony looked out into the darkened audience. Faceless eyes stared back at him. The buzz kept him going as he rose an arm in the air. The other rested on his popped hip. 

He grinned when he heard the music cue. Anthony rolled his wrist and snapped his fingers. All the lights focused on him. The music rose to a crescendo as he danced. A look of euphoria and lust on his pretty features. 

This was his stage. This was where he belonged. 

As the final dance came to an end with roaring applause, Anthony took a deep bow, now only in his underwear, fishnets, and angel wings. He relished in the attention, in the love and adoration that he received from the audience. It fueled the buzz of the alcohol and cocaine and kept the high from fading. It was a different high in and of itself. One that he could never get enough of. 

Anthony disappeared backstage and headed to his dressing room. A pair of angel wings and the word Angel painted on the door. His stage and hooker name. He opened the door, collapsing into the plush cushion in front of his vanity. Anthony began to pull the pins that held the wig free when a knock sounded at his door. 

“Whose it?”

“Just me, Angel.” Anthony’s heart dropped to his stilettos at that voice. 

Bands began to wrap their way around his chest, constricting his breathing. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, slamming back the liquor that resided on his vanity. 

“Come on in, baby. Just so you know, I’m barely decent.” 

A chuckle came through the door as it was nudged open. “When are you ever truly decent, Angelcakes?” Valentino sauntered into the room. His velvet and fur coat floated around him. He walked up behind Angel and began to help remove the pins of the wig. “That was a wonderful performance tonight. I’m very proud of you.” 

Anthony perked up at that. “Really? I’m glad ya liked it.”

Valentino pulled out the last pin, letting it clatter to the vanity. He pulled the wig off his head and placed it on a mannequin head. His fingers ran through Anthony’s hair, untying it, scraping against his scalp. Anthony leaned into the touch. Valentino’s fingers dug harder into his hair and scalp, scratching and tearing at the skin. Anthony instinctively tried to move away from the pain, but Valentino held his head in place, thumbs digging into the nape of his neck. 

“You can really put on a show, Angie.” 

“Wha--what’s on your--on your mind, baby?”

Valentino tilted his face upward to look him in the eye. “You.” He kissed Anthony, shoving his tongue into his mouth, forcing his way past his teeth and down his throat. Anthony stilled, afraid to move. Every instinct in his body had him wanting to pull away, but with the hard grip on his skull, he was forced to take the assault. 

He knew he didn’t want this, didn’t want Valentino again. He was exhausted and his body ached. But when Valentino pulled him from his spot on the cushion and onto his lap on the settee on the other side of the room, Anthony didn’t stop it. Didn’t say anything when Valentino probed his fingers through the laces of the corset until it was stripped away or when he tore through the stockings and his underwear until he was laid bare on Valentino’s lap. Instead, he did as he was supposed to and wrapped his arms around Valentino’s neck. He pushed his coat off, unbuttoned the dress shirt, and freed him of his pants. Anthony let him kiss him. Let him touch him. Let him inside him. Even if all he wanted to do was to get away. To close his legs. To shove away the clawing hands and the bruising grip. 

It would be worse to say no. To try to stop it. So he moaned and moved his hips and gave everything he could to Valentino. He would be safe. 

Anthony laid on his back on the settee, curled with his knees to his chest. Valentino had left him there hours ago, but he couldn’t find the energy or the will to move. He only got up to grab the bottle of vodka that lay empty in his hand as it dangled off the settee. 

His grip tightened on the glass bottle until his knuckles turned white. He sat up, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to keep from crying. Anthony screamed. He threw the bottle at the wall, watching as it shattered, falling to the ground like broken stars. Anthony pulled himself off the sette and over to his vanity. He dug around the drawers until he found the bag of white powder. As he poured some out onto the vanity, lining them into straight little lines with his finger, he contemplated how he wanted to spend the rest of his night. Only one thought came to mind as he snorted up the powder. 

Anthony felt the high buzz in his veins and hit his synapses. He changed out of the torn up stocking and into a new pair, along with the pair of pink shorts and a loose white button up. Anthony grabbed his fur coat as he left his changing room. He walked out of the club, eyeing the phone booth on the other side of the street. The crowds had quieted down as it was close to four in the morning, but that wasn’t going to stop him from what he had in mind. 

He entered the booth and dialed up the one number he had memorized. His own. 

“Who the fuck is calling me right now?”

“It’s me, Cherry. You up to anything?” 

“Fuck no. I just got in.” 

“Well, sugar tits, I’ve got plans for us.” 

Cherry chuckled on the other end of the line. “Still got some of whatever it is you are on?”

“Y’ know it bitch.” 

“I’ll be right there. You calling from the club?”

“Yeah.” Anthony sighed, shaking his head. “Get here soon. I’m gonna get bored and start without ya.” 

“What do you have in mind?”

“A little vandalism and assault.” 

Cherry snorted with a laugh. “I’ll be right there. You better not fucking start with out.” 

“I won’t. Y’ know what to bring.” He ended the call. 

Anthony lit up a cigarette as he waited for Cherry. He rubbed more cocaine onto his gums and under his tongue. The longer she took, the more antsy Anthony grew. He tapped his fingers against his leg to a familiar beat. One of his favorite jazz songs. One he heard played on Alastor’s station a lot. 

A large smile broke through his face as he spotted Cherry beneath a street light. It made her strawberry blond hair shine an orange tint. In both of her hands, she swung twin Louieville sluggers. She tossed him one of the baseball bats. In exchange he tossed her the bag of white powder. Cherry dipped a pinky into the bag, pressing the powder against her teeth. 

“Ya ready bitch?”

“You know you’re my favorite person to party with.” Cherry punched him in the arm. Not softly, but with actual power behind it. 

Anthony swung the bat, aiming for a mailbox outside one of the apartment complexes. Cherry followed his lead. They went around town, banging in mailboxes and smashing up trash cans and flowerpots. Everything bubbled up in Anthony. All the feelings he refused to let himself feel as he came down from the high. Tears bit at the back of his eyes. 

He raised the bat and slammed it down hard, breaking the glass display of a shop. And another. And another. Cherry whooped and cheered him on, breaking in her own windows. They found an automobile parked in an alleyway. A durant star speedster in a pretty red color. 

Anthony smashed in the window and slid into the seat of the automobile. Cherry slid into the driver’s seat next to him, getting the machine running for him. The engine turned over after a few moments of Cherry playing around with the wiring and transmission. 

“Joyride?” Cherry cocked a brow at him.

“Fuck yeah.” 

Cherry slammed her foot down on the accenaltor, forcing the clutch into gear. It lurched forward before the ride smoothed out. They raced down the streets, whooping and hollering. Anthony popped his head out of the window, half dangling out of the car. The wind whipped through his hair. Cherry pulled up near a trash can. He took position and slammed his bat into the can, sending it flying.

“Home fucking run.” Anthony yelled. 

He screamed and screamed into the wind, into the approaching dawn, into nothingness. He screamed even when his voice was raw and throat burned. Tears streamed down his cheeks, but they were quickly stolen by the wind rushing by the outside of the automobile.

They drove as the sun began to peak above the horizon line, painting the sky in soft blues, pink, and oranges. Anthony and Cherry watched the sunrise together. And they continued to drive towards it until they ran out of gas.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that I hope you all enjoy!

Chests heaved against each other. The slickness of skin and sweat. A flush burned through his pale features. Anthony released his hold on the other’s shoulders, unclenching his jaw from his shoulder. His heart beat like a wardrum in chest. He gulped, taking a deep breath, waiting for the moment when he could be free. The tension in his body fell away as the John pulled out of his insides and fell to his back next to Anthony. 

Anthony licked his lips, slowly rising to sitting. He swung his legs off the motel bed, leaning over to the nightstand and the leftover rows of white powder. He brought his face to the lines, picking up the rolled up paper, and inhaled sharply. It burned as it tore against the inside of his nostril, but the calming buzz of the PCP would be worth it. Anthony finished off the drug, grabbing his clothes from where they were flung off the side of the bed. Roaming hands grabbed and groped at his waist. Slow kisses peppered up his spine. 

“Uh, uh, suga’, it looks like you’re outta time. Unless you got more dough, I’m gonna head out.” The arms released his waist. 

“Ugh, fine. See you next time, slut.” The John mumbled and rolled over, away from Anthony to bury his face in the flat motel pillow. 

Anthony pulled up the short skirt, tying it with the drawstrings around his hips, tying a button up around his middle so it exposed his midriff. He hooked the thigh highs back into the garter before lacing up his boots. 

“Tell the wife I say hi.”

“Mmhmm.” 

He pulled on his fur coat and left the motel room. It was a cheap place, one that he was a common sight at. They paid by the hour and didn’t ask questions. They also had a deal with Valentino to look the other way when necessary. 

Anthony shut the door behind him when he left, leaning against the cheap wood as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He used his nail to light the match and held it up to his face. He watched the orange light flicker as it ate up the match. Anthony cursed, tossing it to the side to light another to burn the end of the cigarette. He took a deep breath of the smoke and pushed himself off the door. 

He stumbled down the road, past the hotel and in the direction of the heart of the French Quarter. Anthony gritted his teeth as pain licked at his fingers. He looked down to his hand, seeing the cigarette burned down to ash. He completely forgot he lit it. Anthony shook his head. A haze formed over his senses as he found his way back to Bourbon Street and the studio. At least he assumed he was headed in the right direction. Everything felt right. He didn’t even notice as his body tilted to the side. Jazz music spilled out of clubs all over the French Quarter. Anthony ignored the leers and jeers he got yelled at him as he stumbled through the crowds. 

Everything felt good, light, euphoric. He didn’t even have to think about Valentino or the fact that his ass was still sore, or that he was supposed to be working the strip for more Johns. None of that crossed his mind. He wasn’t going to think about it, Anthony decided. 

Yellow glow of streetlights lined the side of the streets, blurring together in thick streaks across the night sky. The beautiful brick buildings around him stood as imposing monuments to New Orleans. With their small balconies and ivy covered walls, it was unlike New York as he could get. No snow on the ground even in January. He missed it sometimes. Not New York, but the snow. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed a white Christmas until he went without one. 

“Hey, dere beautiful? You open?” A voice interrupted Anthony’s musings. 

Anthony turned sharply on his heel, almost falling over. “Babe, you got the cash, I got the product.” He said, still coherent enough to recognize that he was still on the clock. Cash slipped into his awaiting palm. 

Anthony grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pulled them backwards into the alley. He had to be sure not to trip over his own heels of the cobblestone as he pressed up against a wall. The cool brick that dug into his exposed back grounded him. Lips pressed against his own and hips pressed into his pelvis, pinning him to the wall. Anthony tucked the money into the inner pocket of his jacket. Hands groped at his exposed stomach and untied the knot of his shirt, letting it fall open and expose his chest to the John. The lips left his mouth, trailing down his jaw and neck. Anthony moaned when he knew he should, when there was a little bit of sensation; ground his hips in rhythm when he was supposed to and turned around to face the wall when he knew it was time. His skirt hitched up around his hips as he leaned forward and spread his knees. The sound of a buckle coming loose, of pants dropping to the floor. A hardness pressed against his backside. 

He dug his fingers into the brick as he was entered, trying to focusing on the high instead of the fuck. Anthony groaned and moaned, pretending to enjoy the hot breath panting in his ear. The sound of hips slapping against hips. The skin on skin contact. The burn and the pain pulled him from the haze of the drug. His nails dug harder into the wall beneath him as he felt the John pick up speed, shoving into him like a jackhammer without any rhythm or finesse. 

Anthony could almost count the seconds until the John finished, chasing his release inside of Anthony. He pulled away and hiked up his pants, fastening them around his hips before leaving the alleyway without a word. 

Sometimes Anthony preferred it that way. It was better than the meaningless small talk or the thanks. He was being paid to perform a service, to be used and fucked. He was used to it by now. It was easier when he could move onto the next one without much thought about the previous. With regulars, or those who paid him for more than just a quick fuck, he had ot learn about them, memorize them. Almost like he was going to be tested on them. Because if he didn’t seem like he cared or knew about their problems and desires then they wouldn’t pay the big bucks or they would take it out on him, physically. Or they would tell Valentino, and he would take it into his own hands. He shuddered at the thought. 

But other times he thought about what it would be like to be with someone he truly desired. To have someone not fuck him, but make love to him. He should’ve known there wasn’t truly a difference between the two, but at times he wondered. Anthony had times when he thought he had that, when he got close, but it was always just out of reach for him. Something he could picture and dream about, but never touch. Not like most people would want to touch a whore like that, anyways. 

He knotted his button up and readjusted his skirt. Anthony ran a hand through his hair. He looked up the black ink spots of the night sky. Constellations winked down at him with the slim, sliver of a smirk of the moon smiling down on him. Anthony held his hand up the sky, spreading his fingers and looking through the gaps. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and closed his eyes. 

“On to the next one.” 

Anthony stumbled out of the alleyway, looking more to his feet than ahead. That’s probably why he didn’t notice the person in front of him when he barrelled straight into him. He was knocked off balance, stumbling backwards, barely able to keep his balance. A hand grabbed his forearm to help keep him balanced. He looked up. 

His eyes widened. His heart leapt to his throat. 

“I’m sorry, dear. Please watch out next time.” 

Alastor. Alastor was in front of him. His large brown eyes behind his round, wire rimmed glasses. A bright and full smile across his brown features. Anthony couldn’t find any words or thoughts or even breathing. Alastor was more beautiful up close than he was from afar. 

Anthony watched as Alastor walked away. His hands clasped behind his back. His eyes glued to the spot between the shoulder blades of his red suit jacket. Anthony cursed himself. He had the chance to say something to his idol, but again he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare. He must’ve looked like a fool. Open mouthed and gaping at the poor man. And he smelled like sex and cigarette. Definitely not the best first impression. If that could even count as an impression. 

As he watched Alastor get further and further away, an idea popped in his mind. One he had that night the week prior. Everything in him told him one thing, that same idea, he needed to follow Alastor and see if he really was as fun as he was led to believe that night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait. With university really kicking into gear as the term in almost over for me I've been a little busy. Here is a slightly longer chapter as penance. Thank you for the kudos and love I really appreciate it and it give me motivation to continue!

Alastor hummed a small tune to himself. The January night chilled his face, but he didn’t let anyone realize it as he kept his smile up permanently. He turned down the corner of a side street, aiming for the heavy metal door hidden in shadows. A man, large and burly, his face only being lit by the cherry of his cigarette, lounged by the door. Arms as wide as a tree branch crossed over his barrel chest. 

“Good evening, my good sir.” Alastor approached, smiling widening to an almost painful degree. The man looked up at him with a scowl. “I was hoping that I would be able to see Miss Mimzy’s rose garden tonight?” 

The man huffed, grabbing the handle of the door and sliding it open. 

Alastor slipped past him, “Thank you for the assistance.” The door slammed closed behind him. “What a gentleman.” 

He found himself at the top of a set of cement stairs. Lights strung up along the walls, guiding him down to the basement. Alastor opened the door at the bottom of the steps. Suddenly his senses were engulfed by the loud swing music. A heavy haze of smoke filtered through the room. A four piece band played on the stage in the middle of the room. The tables and booths laid out around the stage in a circle. A bar sprawled along the far end of the room. 

“Al!” A shrill voice caught his attention. “Over here.” 

Niffty waved her hands above her head, half standing on the leather cushion of the both. Her red hair cut close to her chin, falling around her face in waves. 

“Hello, darling.” He slid into the both next to her. 

“I’m so glad you came! I didn’t think you would for a second. Especially because most of the times when we ask you to join us to decline. But I’m so glad that you were able to make it. It will be fun. Of course you came this time, though, with Mimzy and Rosie up there tonight, you were bound to want to support them. I can’t wait to hear them sing. I heard that they make the best duets.” 

“Slow down there, Nif.” Husk grumbled as he slid into the booth next to her, sliding a class of whiskey across the table to Alastor, an apple cider for Nifty, and a bourbon for himself. 

“I’m just so excited. All my friends are here tonight to celebrate and support.” 

“What about the rehabilitation center girls.”

“Well, Charlie is more of Alastor’s friend. And that other girl isn’t exactly a fan of Al.” 

Alastor took a sip at his drink. “I still don’t understand what I did to put her so at odds with me.” 

“Maybe it’s you telling her to smile all the time. Or the fact that she could be jealous about the relationship you have with Charlie.” Niffty offered. 

“Or that you do everything in your power to piss her off.” Husker shot back the drink, moving to grab another. 

“Me? Never.” He purred. Husk shot him a glare from over his shoulder as he returned to the bar. Alastor chuckled. “Alrighty, maybe you’re right. But Vagatha is too high strung for her own good. A little comment here and there and it’s enough to set her off like a powder keg.”

He settled back up next to Niffty. Husk muttered around the rim of his glass, “And you enjoy it, fucker.” 

Alastor said nothing. Eyes glued to the stage as the lights lowered into the audience. A small applause erupted through the audience as Mimzy came out on the stage. She was a short and plump woman dressed in a white evening gown with a feathered boa around her wide shoulders. 

The music slowed to a standstill. Only a soft drumming in the background continued as she approached the standing microphone. Everyone quieted down as the singer cleared her throat and looked back behind her shoulder to the band. Mimzy gave them a soft head nod. They broke out into a song in a minor key, quieter than before, careful not to overwhelm and overplay her voice. And her voice rang through the room, rolling the rolling tempo of the music into a soaring ballad. Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched her. He always thought she was beautiful when she sang, throwing her whole self into the performance. Her voice was a high soprano that was just short of angelic. The song came to a close. Mimzy took a low bow at the waist to the applause. Her dusty brown hair tied up into a bun, bobbed as she did so. 

“Welcome everyone to the Secret Garden. I’m so glad to have such a large audience tonight. Of course I want to thank the owner and host of this establishment, Rosie, for letting me perform here for everyone tonight.” Applause rose again through the audience. 

A slender, tall woman approached the stage and hopped up onto it next to Mimzy. Her skin was a couple shades darker than Alastor’s. Short black hair hidden by the large brimmed that she wore. Her grey dress accented with roses and thorns along the hem and waist. 

“I’m glad that everyone could be here tonight. It really is an honor to see some notable faces in attendance this evening.” Rosie’s gaze landed on Alastor and she gave him a smirk. “Now I won’t keep you waiting. I’ll let Mimzy continue with her wonderful show.” 

She hopped off the stage as Mimzy cued up the band and began her next piece. It was a more upbeat swing number about a cheating lover that was about to get his comeuppance. Rosie wove her way through the tables until she reached her destination. She slid into the booth next to Alastor. Careful to keep enough space from him to not touch him, but close enough to lean into his ear. 

“I’m surprised to see you here, Alastor. What do I owe the pleasure?” She purred. Her southern drawl was thicker than it was on the stage. 

“I came to support a wonderful singer and friend. That’s all.” 

“Hmm, of course.” Rosie rested her cheek on her hand, watching Alastor. “Got dragged along, again? I would expect to see you out, spending your time doing something a little more to your normal tastes tonight. It has been a long time since--”

“No such thing. I chose to show up.” He turned his sharp gaze away from Mimzy and to the bar owner. “We can continue this conversation later, my dear Rosie.” 

Rosie stood and dusted off her dress, pulling her hat lower over her brow. “I’m gonna hold you to that. I’ll see you after the show.” She leaned in close to him, making sure no one else would hear them. “Maybe we can have some true fun then.” 

“Maybe.” He purred. Brown eyes glittered with malice. His grin cooled into a soft smirk.   
“What was that all about, Alastor?” Niffty bounced in her seat. 

“Oh, nothing, dear. Rosie just asked me to see her after the show.” 

“Are you gonna?” Husk muttered into his glass. 

“I told her I would.” 

“Ooh, I bet that will be fun. I know with you being so busy because of the radio show and looking after your old house, along with the center, you haven’t had much time to have fun with your friends. Expect for when we drag you out of your office. You and Rosie have always got along like a house on fire.”

“Yeah. Deadly for every fucker unlucky enough to get trapped in the crumbling walls.” 

“Jealous are you Husker? Do you wish to participate in our favorite show?”

Husk slammed back the rest of his drink, “That’s one show I won’t ever fuck with.” 

“Hehe, oh Husk,” Niffty bumped her shoulder against his. “Don’t go ruining Al’s fun now. You know you love him no matter what.”

“No thanks. I lost the ability to love years ago.” He got up to refill his drink along with Alastor’s and Niffty’s. 

Husk’s eyes wandered over to the redhead as he turned away and headed for the bar. Alastor cocked a brow at his back, but said nothing. 

Niffty began to ramble on and on about the rehabilitation center that he had got her a job at. About how Charlie and Vaggie were doing with the minimal amount of clients that started in the old hotel. She jumped around from one idea to the next, not able to keep track of her thoughts or the speed at which they came out of her mouth. 

Alastor could remember the night he met Niffty. It was a hot summer evening. Hot enough to set everyone on edge and no one had been in a good mood with the heat wave that continued for the past week. Even Alastor had to remove his suit coat to walk around down in his red waistcoat and black button up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hair tied back into the smallest of ponytails at his nape. However he wouldn’t be caught dead in anything like knickers or shorts. 

The sun had set hours previously, and the moon hung full in the sky with an orange tint to it. Alastor remembered feeling on edge, like a knife was being dangled over his head and he had to be attention to it, otherwise it would come falling down to impale him before he could catch it. He knew something was going to happen that wasn’t to his liking, but he had no clue what it was going to be. Alastor hummed a tune to himself. Head swayed softly to the beat. A scream cut him off and he still almost like a record scratch moved through him. 

His eyes narrowed down the dark alley that was to his left, on the other side of the street, before he crossed over to it. He pulled the switchblade out of his pocket, unsheathing the blade and pressing it against his inner forearm to hide it. Alastor rolled his steps. From heel to toe he walked. Careful not to make a sound. 

His grin widened at the scene in front of him before quickly faltering, sharpening into something deadlier. A large man with pale skin had his back to Alastor, holding a woman by her slender wrists as he tore her squarish dress off her shoulders and hitched it up on her waist. A disgusting display to say the very least. Alastor never understood scenes like this. Never saw the appeal. He found them vile and something about it made his blood boil. Made the hunger in him grow until he could barely control it. Alastor moved before he could even think it through. He stepped up behind the man, bringing his knife to the man’s exposed throat, pressing it hard into it to feel as his breath hitched and a sliver of blood broke through the skin. 

“Now, why don’t you put the lady down? I think that would be the best option.” 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh no one.” Alastor slammed his free hand into the man’s back, aiming for his kidney. 

He doubled over with a heave. Alastor jammed at the back of his knees with his heel until he ended up sprawling face first on the ground. A sharp kick to his ribs, then another, and another until he heard it crack and felt it give way beneath his heel. The man wheezed and cried out at each strike, curling in on himself to protect his insides. 

Alastor stepped onto the back of his neck, keeping his face pressed into the stone. He kneeled down in front of the red headed girl. 

Holding out a hand to her, “Are you okay, my dear? I’m so sorry to see this man trying to do something so disgusting to you.”

She nodded slowly, taking his hand. Alastor helped her rise to her feet. Her face was heavily bruised in purple and yellow, cuts along her cheekbone and one of her eyes almost completely closed shut with swelling. 

Alastor pushed her foot harder into the man’s neck until he coughed and begged for release, but he didn’t relieve him of the pain and pressure. No he wouldn’t. He would make sure this man would suffer for trying to take advantage of this woman. 

“Are--are you going to kill--to kill him.” The woman swallowed hard. 

“I was planning on it.” He looked over at her again. Her dark eyes hardened. Alastor grinned, recognizing that look in her face. The strong set of her jaw. The pure fury in the curl of her lip. The deadly malice that dripped off her slight frame. Alastor flipped her knife over in his hand, holding the handle out to her. “Unless you would prefer to do it yourself.” 

She took the knife with hesitation. “Yes. I would.” 

Alastor got off the man and pulled him to his feet, holding him up form under his arms. “Aim wherever you’d like, darling, but please don’t hit me. And smile. You’re never fully dressed without one. Especially for this.” 

The girl looked him in the eye. A grin cut through her delicate features. Alastor licked his lips, mesmerized by the change in the girl as she struck. It was quick and messy. Over and over she stabbed the man. Long after the light faded from him, she continued to tear him apart. His guts spilled out of him. She stabbed him in the groan, separating the offending organ from his body. Alastor relished in the scream that came from him when she did that. Even if a part of him flinched in reflex. 

She pulled away from the body with an exhale. Her entire body shook. Her breathing came out in rapid bursts. But there was no regret or fear on her face. Only joy and relief. Alastor tossed the body to the side. His arms ached from holding him up for so long. 

“Thank you for this.” She moved to hand the knife back, but he shook his head. 

“Keep it. It seems to suit you. Also, this way you’ll have at least something to protect yourself with.” 

She wiped the blade off on her red skirts and tucked into a pocket of the dress. “I appreciate it. My name’s Niffty.”

“An interesting name. I am Alastor.” He held out his hand to the petite woman. “It is nice to meet you.” 

A hand waved in front of Alastor’s face, bringing him out of his memories. “Hey, Al, are you alright?” Niffty asked. 

“Of course. I was just caught up in the past for a moment.” 

“Oh ok. I was worried.”

“No need to worry about him, Nif. I ain’t fucking worth it.”

“You wound me, Husker. How can you say such cruel things to me?” 

Husk huffed, “Because someone’s gotta.” 

Alastor looked to the stage as applause erupted through the audience and Mimzy took a bow. She draped her boa over the microphone before climbing down the stage and into the crowd. Mimzy talked with anyone who approached her as she made her way through the audience, but she had only one destination in mind. 

“Oh Al~” Mimzy sang in her songbird like voice, draping her arms over his shoulders from behind. Alastor did everything in his power not to flinch at the touch, but couldn’t help the stiffening that came at the sudden intrusion in his space. “I can’t believe you made it, baby. I was so excited to see you.” Her fingers tapped against his collar to a familiar beat.

“With a personal invitation from you, how could I refuse?” 

He physically relaxed when she released him from the embrace and slid into the booth next to hi,, but relief didn’t come for long as she sat right next to him, popping her hip against his own. Mimzy trailed her nails across his shoulders. Alastor grabbed her hand, pulling it away from him. 

She laughed, “Still as prim and proper as ever, Al. C’mon, relax a little bit. No one cares if I touch you a little bit.” 

“I care.” He tried to keep the snarl from his voice. “And would prefer if you didn’t.” 

Mimzy pouted. Her full mouth turned down at the corners. Opposite to Alastor’s always present grin. 

“You’re no fun. I was teasing ya. Maybe if you got that stick out of your ass--” 

“That was a wonderful song, Miss Mimzy. You really have such a wonderful voice.” Niffty interrupted. “Do you ever take requests because I think that I have the perfect song for you to sing and it would go wonderfully with your range. Of course it is also one of Alastor’s favorites too, if you’re interested in something like that.” 

“Oh, really? Please tell me more. I would love to hear about Al’s favorite songs. Maybe he’ll let me perform for him privately sometime.” Mimzy ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it quickly before he could remove her hand. Rosie approached and pointed to the stage, telling her to get back to her performance. “But it will have to wait, sweetheart. I have to finish my show now. Don’t sneak off before I’m able to wish you a goodbye, Al.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. He stiffened at the touch, sitting even straighter than before. 

Alastor turned away as he watched her leave the table to return to the stage. He might love her voice, but he didn’t love the woman it was attached to. He clenched his hands into tight fists under the table. His smile grew wider. 

“Don’t even think ‘bout it.” Rosie said as walked past the table, shooting him a glare. “We’re talking after the show.” 

The show didn’t last much longer, only a couple of more songs. Of course the crowd demanded an encore, one which Mimzy gladly encouraged and conceded to. Rosie stood over by a far door. She jerked her head to the side, trying to summon Alastor to follow during the encore. He quietly excused himself from Niffty and Husk to follow the bar owner into a backroom. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, Alastor dropped the smile into a sneer, “I am going to kill her.” 

“And I told you not to even think ‘bout it, Alastor. She’s my number one performer and I can’t have you putting a dent in the profit margin because she gets a little touchy with you. A profit that you help yourself to as well.” 

“You’re lucky I respect you so well, Rosie, dear.” 

She rolled her eyes, leaning against her desk. “I have a gift for you in the basement. I was going to finish this one off myself, but you looked like you needed to blow off some steam. And you still aren’t allowed to kill Mimzy.” 

“When will I be allowed to?” He leaned in close to her and cocked his head to the side with a snap. 

“When she no longer can sing.” 

He waved her off, “Fine. Fine. Where is this gift you have for me?”

“Right this way.” She pulled back the carpet in her office and hitched open the trap door. Rosie pulled on the string and a light illuminated the wooden staircase. 

“Would you like to join me for this one, dear?” Alastor held out a hand to her.

“You’re willing to share a meal? What a gentleman you are.” 

Rosie took his hand as he led her into the basement. She closed the trap door above them. She looked up at the man. Twin grins on their faces. Hunger and the desire to destroy both heavy in their gazes as they approached the man tied to the chair in the basement.


	8. Chapter 8

Alastor knocked sharply on the colored glass covered double doors. The sun was still beginning to peak over the horizon, but he didn’t mind being up that early in the morning. And with January almost over, it was about time he stopped by, not having done so since the New Years. He ran a hand down his brown slacks, smooring out imperceptible wrinkles. The door opened to see a frowning brown face in the crack between the doors. 

“Good morn--” The door slammed in his face, cutting him off. He knocked again. 

The door opened. “Good--”

“Ugh, no.” The door slammed shut again. 

He knocked a third time. A true smile formed on his face when he heard the groan on the other side of the door. The door opened all the way. 

“May I speak now?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” 

Alastor stepped past the dark haired woman, patting her on the head. “Good morning to you, my dear. Now, smile. You would look much prettier if you did.” 

Vaggie swatted his hand away with a growl. Her scowl deepened. “Shut the fuck up and go away. It’s too early for this shit.” 

“You sound like Husk when you talk like that.” 

“Don’t compare me to that drunk.” She rubbed her hands down her face, calling out into the darkened lobby. “Charlie, hon, Alastor is here. Come deal with him for me.” 

“Coming, coming.” Charlie popped her head out of the door and scurried out. She finished up buttoning her shirt and tucking it into her pants when she stopped in front of Alastor. A large yawn broke through her features. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. “I’m surprised to see you here, Alastor. What can I do for you?” 

“Oh, nothing, dear. I was stopping by to see how my investment was going. Also to check on you, of course.” 

“I’m doing alright. A little overwhelmed if I’m being honest. Since we did that advertisement on your radio show we’ve had a small influx of clients, and I’m a little swamped as of late. But that means that your investment is going great.” Charlie perked up. “We are really doing our best to try to redeem the people here and make them so that they can actually be a productive member of society. Most people are trying to! It’s really nice to see people actively trying to keep clean and make healthy decisions. Vaggie’s been a lot of help. I don’t think I could be doing this without her.” 

“And your parents?”

“They still think that this endeavor is foolish and they aren’t a fan of Vaggie.” 

He patted her softly on the head, “So nothing has changed in that regard. I’m here, so why don’t you let me help out a bit. Give me all the paperwork and finance reports that you haven't gotten to and I’ll try to get the rest done for you. I also have some groceries in the car to make breakfast for the staff and residents. I should have enough unless we got an influx of sinners since the lst report you gave me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you Alastor.” 

“You aren’t asking, dear, I’m offering. I was pretty bored this morning and couldn’t sleep anyways, so I decided to stop by to find some way to entertain myself. I have the day off anyways.” 

“Oh, thanks, Al. I really appreciate it. All the paperwork is in my office, so feel free to get started in there. And you know where the kitchen is. Do you need any help?” 

Alastor turned Charlie around and pushed her forward slightly by the shoulders. “Now get back to bed. You look like you need it.” 

“Oh no.” Charlie pumped her fist in the air. “I’m awake and ready to get this center up and running for the day, so don’t you worry about me.” 

“If you say so, my dear. However, I can handle it myself.” He chuckled and returned to his car, pulling paper bags out of the passenger seat. Charlie right on his heels, grabbing bags out of his arms to heave them into the hotel’s kitchen. 

“I know you can can, Al. I just thought I should do something as thanks.” 

“Your appreciation of the meal and getting a chance to relax is all the thanks I need.” He waves her off, “Shoo, dear, I cannot have you distracting me.” 

“I’ll make sure that everyone is expecting your wonderful cooking this morning.” She ducked her head back into the kitchen after the salon style doors shut behind her. 

“Thanks, again, Al.” 

Alastor lit one of the stove top burners, placing a kettle on top to make himself some tea. He dug through the pile of grocery bags, placing everything out onto the counter. Cartons of eggs, dozens of glass bottles filled with fresh milk, pounds of butter, bundles of meat wrapped in paper and twine, vegetables that needed to be washed, flour, and sugar. As the kettle began to steam and hiss, Niffty came into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes with a hand. 

“Whatcha got there?” Alastor poured both himself and her a cup of tea, stirring in cream and sugar for the petite redhead. 

“Breakfast, little darling.” 

She breathed in the steam, eyeing the meat wrapped packages. “Need any help?”

“A little slower in the morning?” He chuckled. “But yes, I would appreciate it if you could be my sous chef for the morning.”

Niffty grabbed an apron and tied it around her slender waist after downing the rest of the tea. “I’ll leave the meat preparation to you. What are you planning on making anyways?” 

“Take a look and tell me what you think I have in mind.”

She looked amongst the groceries and ingredients as Alastor pulled out knives, cutting boards, and baking sheets. 

“Quiche!” 

“Yes, my dear. Let’s get to work, shall we?” 

They didn’t talk much when they worked, focusing on their respective tasks. Eventually, Alastor turned on a radio, humming along to the jazz playing through the small device. They worked in the kitchen in sync with one another, like the many other times that they cooked. Niffty had stayed with Alastor for about a year in the past, before she took up residence in the hotel. During that time, the two had learned best how to work in the same space as the others. Niffty knew better than most not to question the twine wrapped packages on the counter and to always leave those to Alastor. It’s also one reason why she went vegetarian, living with Alastor could get a little risky in the meat department, but she never judged him and wouldn’t stop him. 

She got the pie crust dough ready, slicing up the butter into the dry ingredients and rolling it out along the counter, lining the baking sheets with it. Alastor was always better than her with a knife, so she left the cutting of the vegetables and the preparation of the meat to him. Eggs, heavy cream, milk, peppers, onions, spinach, and mushrooms went into one tray of pie crust while the other had tenderized and minced meat, eggs, heavy cream, milk, onions, and peppers. As they finished everything up and slid the trays into the oven, the duo started on the next batch. 

“Wowie, Al, it smells wonderful in here.” Charlie skipped into the kitchen. “C’mon, you let Niffty help you cook, but not me?”

“When have you ever had to cook for yourself? I would not be surprised if you burned down this old hotel if I let you help.”

Charlie pouted. “So mean.” 

“It took awhile for Alastor to let me in the kitchen while he was cooking too, so don’t think it's about you. It’s about him and being the lone wolf that he portrays himself as. Of course, eventually he had no choice but to share the space with me when we lived together. That doesn’t mean that he was happy about it. No sir no. He was as grumpy as Husk about it to begin with.” Niffty skirted around Charlie to replace the trays in the oven with new ones. “These are all done, so if there are people that are ready for food, tell them to gather in the dining room and I’ll bring these out.” 

She ran from the kitchen and large dining space, carrying a stack of plates taller than her and silverware bundled in her small arms. Niffty plated the quiche and placed it onto serving plates in the middle of the table while Alastor cleaned the baking trays and prepared them for the next batch. He caught a glance of Vaggie through the swinging doors as Niffty left. Her hair covered one of her eyes, but that didn’t stop the glare that she gave him. He responded with a bigger grin and a playful wave. He could practically hear her angry growl from where he stood in the kitchen, holding back on the laugh that rose in his chest. 

Breakfast took about an hour and half for all the staff and patrons to finish. Alastor took a couple slices of quiche with him to the office to eat in peace and quiet. Charlie insisted that she could handle the dishes and the aftermath of the kitchen, and he was glad to let her. He settled into the large leather chair in the office, eyeing the stack of papers on the desk. 

Alastor thought back to the conversation he had with Rosie the other night, the reason that he decided to stop by the rehabilitation center. 

Her tongue swiped over the knife blade, indulging in the blood. “So, do you really think that the Magne girl can help all those wayward souls of hers in that rehabilitation center?”

“Oh, no, Rosie, dear.” Alastor said. His gaze focused on using the slender tip of the blade to cut around the soft tissue of the eye, digging around the back until he felt the orbital nerve and snapped it clean through. He placed it in a tray to the side. Normally he wasn’t the biggest fan of the eyes, as they were mostly mucus and fluids, but Rosie loved to keep them around and store them as trophies. “She asked for my help and I decided I would. I thought maybe it could be entertaining. To see those misguided fools try to better themselves, only to fall repeatedly back to their destructive, sinful behavior.” 

She chuckled. “Now that sounds like the Alastor I know.” Rosie picked up the cooling hand and popped the joint that connected the index finger to the rest of the hand, slicing it clean off. She continued with the rest of the fingers. He eyed her. “A small snack.” 

“You have the oddest tastes.” 

“Coming from you? That’s really gotta mean something. Have whatever organs you want. I know those are your favorite.” 

“I already have plenty in my icebox back home. Almost more than I know what to deal with.” 

“You know what could be pretty entertaining?” Rosie smirked. “I think I had the most wonderful idea of how you could use up all that meat you have in the icebox.”

“And what would that be?”

“Okay, Al, think about this with me. What if you made it for the center? It would be hilarious. They are trying to no longer commit sin and then they unwittingly commit one of the worst sins god has to offer. Just thinking about it makes me excited. Oh, the entertainment.”

Alastor sliced through the navel and up to the breast bone and from each shoulder to the center of the chest, peeling back the skin. He grabbed one of Rosie’s saws, cutting through the sternum and ribs before yanking it off the corpse and tossing it to the floor. 

“You would not even be there to experience it.” He sliced around the organs, removing the heart and the liver. “How could you possibly get entertainment when you cannot be the one leading them down the dark slope of sin?”

“Knowing that you did it and shared our little fun with them would be enough. Think about Alastor. Think about sharing our little gift with the mass of sinners. Think how entertaining it could be to know that they are eating their fellow man without being able to tell the difference.” 

He turned to face Rosie. Her lips curled into a smirk around one the fingers she sucked on. His own grin grew to match it. “That is a marvelous idea, my dear. Damn them all a little more.”

She clapped her hands together. “I knew you would love it. Wanna finish up here? I bet your friends are waiting for you.” 

Alastor shook his head, clearing himself of the memory. Though Rosie hasn’t been able to be there to experience it, she was been right. It was marvelously, wonderfully entertaining to be in on the joke that no one else could even think of, and it was a breakfast that he could enjoy to the fullest. He placed his plate to the side, looking at the paperwork on the desk. He sighed as he began to work through the papers. 

Hours past as he whittled down the stacks and filed them away somewhere he knew that Charlie could easily access. Eventually, he decided to return his own plate to the kitchen and fetch a cup of tea while he was there. As he opened the office door, as it was off down the hall from the main check-in area, he heard someone talking to Charlie at the front desk. He stilled in the doorwayt, listening in on the conversation. Something about the voice seemed familiar. It itched in the back of his head, like he would have sworn he heard it before, but he couldn’t place a face to it or where he recognized it from. 

“So, what’s this place, anyways?” 

“This is the Happy Rehabilitation Center. Are you interested in our services?”

“This that place that was talked ‘bout on the radio, huh. Doesn’t look like much ta me.” 

He heard Charlie clap her hands together, “You heard about us on Alastor’s radio show? That’s great. Alastor is actually here today and I bet if you wanted he would be happy to meet a fan.”

“Nah, toots, I ain’t interested. No need to bribe me into checkin’ the place out.” 

“You aren’t an addict then?” 

“I never said that. Have a good day.” 

Alastor straightened his clothes as he left the office, passing by Charlie with a defeated look on her face. She slumped against the counter to the check-in desk, holding her head in her hands with a frown. He saw a head of blond hair leave before the main door to the hotel closed behind them.

“Smile, my dear, you won’t get any new patrons without one.”

Charlie looked up at him, pulling a small smile onto her features. “I guess, but not even that seems to help.” 

“You cannot make someone join the program. They have to come of their own free will or it will never work. You taught me that.”

“I only had to tell you that because you suggested picking up prostitutes and addicts off the streets and dropping them off at the hotel to make them join. I don’t know where you even got that idea from.”

“You needed patrons. I was only trying to help.” He shrugged, turning on his heel to head to the kitchen. 

“And I appreciate all the work that you do for the center, Al.” 

“Anytime my dear.” 

He settled back into the office with a cup of tea and finished off the remaining papers, looking over the books to see how his money was being spent around the hotel and exactly how many people were staying and participating in the program. They had about twenty. Better than he originally anticipated. He chalked it up to the depression and people looking for a free place to stay, even if the perks of having a roof over your head meant being clean and dealing with everything that came with that. 

Alastor didn’t believe that any of them would stay sober after they left the program, but he didn’t question Charlie’s dream. Only determined to help where he can so he could have front row seats to the lothesome, gutter beings fall from the chance at being clean and sober to their old ways. How excited he was for this little slice of entertainment. Even if it meant watching his childhood friend fail at her dream. But he would be there to help pick up her pieces when she needed him. He promised her that. Even if that promise was almost a decade old. Alastor was never one to go back on a promise or a deal, and he wouldn’t start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will they actually meet? Who knows? Definitely not me. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but worth it. 
> 
> Now if anyone thinks they can come up with a better summary for this story then let me know, because I suck at it and want a new one.

He ended up out of town and in the bayou on this specific weekend, like he did every year, enjoying the quiet and calmness of the swamp in the first week of February. Alastor took a deep breath and leaned back in the boat, setting the oars inside to just drift. He watched the trees move by overhead. A book tucked into a picnic basket on the opposite side of the boat, on the other passenger seat. Alastor pulled it out and thumbed through the pages. It was one of his mother’s favorites, McTeague. She always thought it said a lot about American greed, and Alastor happened to enjoy the murder in it. So, they both found something about it to enjoy. It was his mother’s copy that he held. Her own notes and opinions left in the margins. A note for Alastor on the back cover. A little piece of her left. 

It had been eight years since she died. She loved the quietness of the bayou more than Alastor sometimes, using it as a way to escape the oppressiveness of her life. Life had never been sweet on Sabine Leveau, but that didn’t change the smile on her face or the joy she radiated when she danced along to the radio in their small apartment. 

She was a plump woman with dark black skin and kinky hair that she usually kept relaxed, not by choice, but because it was what was expected out of her. Sometimes when they would be out together, people wouldn’t believe Alastor was her son, with his lighter skin and softer brown hair. However, anyone could see the resemblance in the eyes or the wideness of the nose. Especially in the smile. Alastor did everything to emulate his mother’s bright smile. He ran a hand through his hair, remembering how her short, stubby fingers would run through it and ruffle it up, saying how lucky he was to get his white father’s hair. And if only he could’ve been born a little lighter. Alastor had fought her on that, wanting to look more like her, to have the same dark hair and skin, but she always insisted that his life was going to be easier with how he looked. But all Alastor knew was that he hated his father, wanting nothing to do with him, especially to look anything like him. 

Alastor refocused on the book, trying to shake the memories from replaying against the back of his eyes. Tears bit at the back of his eyes, but he ignored them, pushing them down with the memories to do everything in his power not to remember. 

It is why he disappeared to the bayou on the first of February. There were too many feelings that he buried that came bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano becoming active. He never wanted anyone else to see it, to experience the pain he bundled up deep inside of him. It might have been eight years, but that didn't take the sting out of her death or the dark memories that came with it. 

He tried to focus on some of the more happy memories he had of her. Alastor remembered how she insisted that he learn how to cook, saying that he didn't need to be the type of man that relied on a woman to take care of the household tasks to keep him alive. She also taught him how to dress. Always like a proper gentleman. Also taught him how to talk without this natural born cajun accent, focusing on the popular transatlantic sound, telling him it would help land him a job and made him sound more educated, even though he dropped out after middle school. Even after he dropped out of school, Sabine had insisted that he continue to teach himself literature and mathematics, sign that he might not be taught the traditional way, but that didn’t have to stop him from learning. 

She always tried to make the best out of things. That was Sabine Leveau’s true golden quality. 

He pulled the food out of the picnic basket, placing the po’ boy sandwiches, salad, and fried potatoes on the blanket on the opposite bench. He set it as if two people would be eating lunch together in the little boat. However, Alastor didn’t end up eating any of the food he cooked. His stomach roiled at the thought of putting anything in it. 

Alastor closed the book in his lap, resigning to the fact that he wouldn’t end up getting through much of it on the boat ride. Instead, he crawled into the bottle of the small, wooden dinghy as laid on his back, tucking an arm behind his head. He draped the blanket over himself. The February air chilled his skin. Alastor couldn’t wait until it started to warm up and he could feel the heat of spring. His eyes fluttered closed. His breathing evened out until he drifted into a deep sleep, dreaming of his mother and remembering the day she died played back to him in his dreams. 

Alastor took out the flask that Husk gave him years ago from the inside of his jacket pocket. After falling asleep in the boat, he woke up from a terrible nightmare with a bad attitude and a desire to take it out on the nearest thing he could. So, he dragged himself back to the French Quarter, ready to find some unsuspecting soul to ravage and tear apart. Usually he didn’t go on a hunt inebriated, but he had too many feelings swirling in his chest he wanted to numb to pay attention to that. The alcohol was the only way he could think of to numb the constricting pain winding into around his sternum. 

As it was a Saturday night, the French Quarter buzzed alive with jazz spilling out of dance clubs and underground bars. Alastor pulled the brim of his newsboy cap lower on his face, hiding it in shadows. He didn’t need to get recognized tonight. He didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with fans and knew he would snap at them and probably end up doing something that he shouldn’t if he was approached. 

He felt eyes on his back, watching him. Perfect. Just as he hoped. He went to the French Quarter expecting to feel that gaze on him. He’d felt those eyes for over the past week and they hadn’t let him down that evening. Alastor hummed a tune to himself, continuing to walk around the Quarter, intrigued to see how long the eyes would be glued to him. Some nights it was only for a few minutes, sometimes it was for hours upon hours until he had to try to lose the eyes to get what he needed done or return home. 

“Al. Al. Alastor. Alastor~” A voice had him stopping midstep, almost as if a record scratch went through him. She bounded up to him. Her dress tight around her large breasts and swingin hips. Fur lined coat tucked snuggled around her. Her blond hair set into a wave pin bob. 

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that there was no way he could get away from her now. “Hello, Mimzy.” 

“What are you up to? I’m surprised to see you out and about at this time of night.”

“Now that cannot be true. You have seen me at your club later than this.” His smile tightened as he looked down at her. “I am not up to much. This and that.” 

Mimzy pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, running up and down the slate grey turtleneck sweater. “If you ain’t doing anything in particular, I was thinking that maybe you would want to spend the rest of the evening with me? I promise you we could have some fun.”

“Now, Mimzy,” Alastor grabbed her by the wrists, stepping out of her touch. His grip was like iron. It dug into her hard enough to bruise. It took everything in his power not to drag her off to an alleyway and kill her right then and there. If he didn’t know that Rosie would have his head if he did, he would’ve. Alastor could almost taste it. “I apologize if I have not made my opinion of spending the night with you perfectly clear. I find the idea utterly repulsive. Have a wonderful evening. I will be on my way.” 

He dropped her wrists and sidestepped her. Her mouth dropped to the floor at his words before she found the sense to close it. Her brows knitted together in fury and she crossed her arms over her chest, stalking away with her tail between her legs. Alastor let out a breath. Glad to finally be able to tell her how he truly felt and have it get through that thick skull of hers. Maybe now she would leave him alone. He could only dream for the day. 

Alastor turned down a couple of side streets, getting further from Bourbon Street and the heart of the French Quarter. The music that filtered through the air quieted and pittered out, but the gaze he felt between his shoulder blades followed him insistently. He entered the mouth of an alley, but didn’t disappear into it’s shadows like he normally would’ve. Alastor pulled out the cigarette case and lit one of the sticks between his teeth. 

The grey smoke filtered through the air and up into the cloudless night sky. He tugged on the hem of his black leather gloves, making sure they sat where he liked them on his slender wrists. The warm smoke burned the inside of his nostrils, but helped to calm the angry beat of his heart. 

“Now, my dear stalker, are you going to come out to play or continue hiding?” Alastor said around the cigarette. 

He heard a chuckle, but other than that nothing. Alastor could barely place it. Only that it came from somewhere behind him and to the right, but he refused to turn around and face it. No. Part of the game tonight would be making the stalker come to him. Not the other way around. 

His grin sharpened. Eyes alight with malice as bloodlust buzzed along his nerves beneath is skin. Alastor smoked the cigarette down, flicking it into the alley when he was finished with it. He moved to light another, but stopped. 

“Ya lookin’ for a game, Mista’ Leveau?”

“Possibly.” He tucked the case back into the inside of his coat. “If you can entertain me that is.” 

“I’m in the entertainin’ business, so I think I gotta pretty good chance. ‘Specially ‘cause I know what type of entertainment ya seem to like.” The voice moved closer to him. Not close enough yet. “But seein’ ya turn down Mimzy Benoit, that was somethin’ I never expected ta see. I guess I could see it from ya.”

“And why is that?” Another but closer. He needed him to just get a few steps closer to Alastor. 

“Most men wouldn’t think twice about gettin’ between her legs. And seein’ ya practically get disgusted at the offer, most would probably think ya are a fag--” 

Alastor returned sharply on his heel, grabbing his stalked by the throat and slamming him against the brick wall. A knife pressed to his abdomen. 

“Looks like I caught my stalker.” 

The man smirked up at Alastor, choking out “Kinky.”


	10. Chapter 10

As Anthony’s back slammed against the brick wall, he grunted, feeling his breath be forced out of his chest. It sent tremors of pain from the bruises already lacing his spine from the beating he got from Valentino earlier that evening. His heart leapt to his throat when he felt the point of a blade big into his side, aimed up and between his ribs. The rough leather grip on his throat. He looked up into those warm brown eyes for the first time in his life. And that menacing smile of his was directed solely at Anthony.

“Kinky.” He choked out, trying to breath. The hand tightened on his throat. Maybe it wasn’t the best use of the limited oxygen he was given, but it was worth it to see the small falter of the smile before it returned full force. 

“I was not expecting that.” Alastor said. His knee slammed into the top of Anthony’s thigh, pinning him more directly to the wall. He could smell the bourbon on the other’s breath as his face was mere inches from Anthony’s. 

“I’m full of surprises. Keep fuckin’ doin’ me like this and you’ll see more.” Anthony knew the blade pierced his clothing and his skin, as he felt the sharp tug of the knife and the small sliver of blood that dripped down his side. “Harder, Daddy~” He pushed his hip in the direction of the knife, getting it to go in deeper between his ribs. 

Alastor stilled and pulled the blade back. His dark brows knitted together in confusion. Anthony pouted at the removal. Alastor looked him up and down for the first time, actually paying attention to him and almost looking like he actually saw a person and not just an animal to slaughter. The grip on his throat loosened and it felt like Anthony could finally breathe again. 

“Aww, you’re no fun. I thought mista’ big shot serial killer was plannin’ on guttin’ me tonight. And I was gonna fuckin’ letcha too. Or maybe ya like ‘em to go out fightin’. Maybe that’s what gets ya all hot and hard.”

His hands dangled by his sides, refusing to touch the radio host. In the past week that he had been following Alastor around town, there was something that he noticed, other than the killings, was that the man didn’t like to be touched. Anthony could respect that. 

At first he thought that Alastor was a little on the boring side after the night in the alley. All he seemed to do was go to work and go home. His house was nice, an old house more outside the city and close to the water and bayou. Occasionally he caught him going to that one speakeasy run by Miss Rosie, one that he wasn’t allowed at usually because it didn’t cater to his type of entertainment. But when he followed Alastor into that speakeasy, with the hyper red head and gruff old man, he thought that it would be a boring night and almost went home. Until he saw Alastor disappear into a backroom with the owner. It was a spur of the moment thing to follow him and listen in to the office door, assuming that he would catch the radio host fucking the speakeasy owner, but instead he caught the muffled screams of pain, coming from neither of the two he knew had entered the office. 

So, he knew that his suspicions were spot on. That body in the alleyway did belong to the serial killer that had been running rampant in New Orleans for the past couple of years. He was definitely sure when he found another mutilated corpse while following Alastor. The same carved smile into his cheeks. 

For such a popular man, and to Anthony’s complete confusion, he never caught him with another person unless he was killing them or they were one of his friends. Alastor was charismatic as all shit, and anyone could recognize his good looks from a mile away, but he never ended up fucking anyone. If Anthony had his status and face, he would be bringing home men every chance he got. It made him even more interesting as Anthony knew he probably wouldn’t end up being able to seduce Alastor on their first meeting, and he originally never planned to come on to him at all, but it was too much fun he realized after he saw the shock and confusion after letting his first comment slip. He wandered how else he could push his buttons before he would be slaughtered and end up with that carved smile. 

And then there was that rehabilitation center that was run in that old hotel. Anthony ended up following Alastor there and being stopped by the owner and program runner. He almost jumped out of his skin as he was approached by the pretty blond. Anthony remembered seeing her on Alastor’s arm more than one, but never really thought anything of it. He knew lust when he saw it and neither of them gave off that look towards the other. 

The closest look that Anthony had seen to lust on Alastor’s face over the week he’d been stalking him, would be now, with the hand around his slender throat and the knife at his belly. But that was a different type all together. One that Anthony thought he might indulge in. 

“You are a little strange.” Alastor spoke up, breaking Anthony from his thoughts. 

“Oh, figuring that out now, suga’?” Anthony purred. The knife pressed back into his side. He winced at the pain. His body ached and the abuse that Alastor was putting it through didn’t help, but it was a good distraction. 

“And you want me to kill you?”

“It be more fun by your hand then endin’ up overdosin’ on some shit. At least this way’s a little less borin’ and predictable.”

Alastor laughed. A doubled overed laugh right in his face. It was a bark of a laugh, low and rough, sending shivers down Anthony’s spine. He readjusted himself, looking Anthony up and down. “You may look terrible, but you do not look like the suicidal type to me.” 

“Ya don’t fuckin’ know me. How can ya say I ain’t suicidal?”

“Because, my dear stalker, you would have the person who beat you like that kill you. Do not try to tell me that they would not, but we both know you could push them far enough to kill you. It probably would not be difficult either by the looks of you. Or you could go back to the gutter that it looks you crawled out of, but either way you will have to find someone else to kill you.” 

“Fuck. You.” Anthony spat. 

“I would never.” Alastor held a hand to his chest, feigning offense. He brought the knife up to Anthony’s cheek, sliding along the bone down to the edge of his scowl, carving around the bruises that littered his skin. A sliver of blood bubbled up along his pale, freckled skin, catching against the flat of the blade. He brought the blade up to his mouth, sweeping his tongue across it, lapping up the blood. 

“Sick motherfucker.” Alastor moved to turn away from him, but Anthony grabbed his arm, focusing him to turn back. Out of instinct, Alastor moved to slam the other man back against the wall, holding the knife to his slender through, beneath the bobbing Adam's apple. Anthony held that dark gaze. “Why won’t ya do it? C’mon, I know I can piss ya off enough to do it.”

“It is not worth it. Would not be entertaining in the slightest.” 

“Not like feedin’ a bunch of addicts human meat without them even realizin’. That’s what you call entertainment if I’m rememberin’ right. Or killin’ people all around town and only leaving ‘bout half the bodies around ‘cause ya eat the rest. Or the killin’ you do with that pretty lady down at the speakeasy.” 

Alastor pressed the knife harder against his throat, almost cutting through the delicate skin. “You seem to know a lot about me.” 

“I’m stalkin’ ya, remember.” 

“Ah, yes, very pesky. You are selling your case. I do not particularly like the thought of you knowing all that about me, but…”

“Am I still not good enough for ya? Because I think I’m plenty worthy of ending up a victim to ya.” 

Alastor sighed, taking a step back. He pocketed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose before his face lit up again. “Then make it entertaining.”

“What? The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Prove it would be worth it. Show me.” 

Anthony scoffed, “I thought I already did. Ya know, that not so subtle attempt to show that I could expose ya for the monster ya truly are.” 

“My dear, you wouldn’t be the first. I want you to show me that you can be an interesting human being worthy of me killing you.” 

“That never seemed to matter to ya before.” 

“Does that matter?” 

“Guess not.” He shrugged, holding back a wince. Anthony’s body was beginning to want to give out. The pain from the beating he had received earlier in the evening wearing out whatever energy had. And the high he used to get him out of the club had fizzled out. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the brick. “Whatcha mean by entertainin’?”

Alastor waved him off, already heading to leave the alley, “We will have to see, my darling stalker.” He turned on his heel. Brown eyes pinned down Anthony from where they glowed in the streetlamp light. “You know my name, so I think it is only fair that I learn yours.” 

“Anth--Angel.”

“Have a good evening, my darling Angel.”

Anthony watched him walk off, unable to move as pain wrecked his body. His eyes pinned to that spot between his shoulder blades until he disappeared into the night. He sunk down against the wall. All energy left him, leaving him feeling defeated and exhausted. His body felt like a sack of stones dragged down multiple flights of stairs. 

“The fuck was that?” 

He held his head in his hand. His body ached for booze or something to get him high or forget that pain. Maybe skipping out on his corner duties to stalk the radio host hadn’t been his smartest idea, especially after Valentino found out, but that didn’t mean that he was about to stop. He had been issued a challenge. One that he wasn’t about to ignore. Especially when it made him shiver at the sound of his voice. His blood warmed beneath his skin. 

Also, he didn’t understand why he had given Alastor his whoring name, but he didn't regret it. When he heard him use it, his toes curled in his boots. Anthony pulled out his pack of cigarettes and the small matchbook that resided in the cardboard box, lighting it up. He took a slow inhale of the smoke, letting it calm his rapid heartbeat and shaking fingers. 

Anthony ran his fingers over his throat, over the cut on his face, and lastly, the gash in his side. He knew that the last one would probably need proper medical attention, but he didn’t care as his shirt soaked up the blood. All he cared about was feeling Alastor’s strong hand pressed against his skin, his knife tearing through the skin, the hungry look in his eye as he licked up the blood of the blade. A flush tainted the tops of Anthony’s ears. It took his breath away to see the radio host that close, to feel his booze stained breath, to practically beg him to kill him. 

But the thing he learned most about Alastor that night, was that he was an asshole. Anthony smirked. It made sense. His type had always been an asshole. And Alastor fit it perfectly. He finished off the cigarette, slicking it off to the side before using the wall to help him to stand. Anthony hobbled his way back through the streets of the French Quarter until he ended up at the iron gate outside his apartment building. He just hoped that Cherry would still be awake to stitch up his side as he knew he wouldn’t be able to do a good enough job on his own and didn’t feel like having another ugly scar to decorate his body. 

Anthony hauled himself up the stairs, falling against the door to his apartment as he dug through his pockets to pull out his keys. He jiggled them in the lock, practically falling into the apartment as it swung open under his weight. 

“Yo, Cherry, ya here?” 

Cherry came out of her bedroom, looking like she was about to start some shit with him. “What the fuck you goin’ on yellin’ abou--Fuck, Angie, what did you do?” She rushed to his side, slipping an arm underneath his shoulder and helping him over to the couch. 

“What makes ya think this was my fuckin’ fault?”

“It’s either you or Valentino.” She disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing iodine and the medical string and bandages that they kept in there. Cherry brought the bundle and dropped them on the coffee table. “So, what the fuck happened?” 

Cherry unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off his soaked through skin along with the undershirt. She eyed the gash, raising a light brow. A wet rag pressed against the wound. Anthony hissed through clenched teeth. 

“I finally met ‘im?”

“Who?” She pulled out the large brown bottle, pouring the liquid onto another clean rag. “The son of a bitch that’s gonna kill you.” 

“Exactly.” He bit back a groan as Cherry cleaned the gsh with the iodine. Anthony clenched the couch cushion beneath him. “Can I at least get a fuckin’ drink before ya go stabbin’ me with needles.” 

“If you tell me what the fuck happened.” 

“I told ya. I met ‘im.”

She laughed through her nose, but it was void of any humor. “The only him I know that you’ve been waiting to meet is that fuckign radio host that you’re obsessed with.” 

“Ding, ding, ding, sugar tits.”

“Fuck. And he did this shit to you?”

Anthony grinned, “Ya know it.” 

Cherry hit him above the head as she stood, “Stop looking so fucking happy about it, dipshit.” She dug through the cabinets in the kitchen, bringing a bottle of clear liquor back with her. “I have half the mind not to fucking give this to because you’re a fucking dumbass.”

“But ya love me.” He grinned up at her. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Drink up, fucker.” 

Anthony unscrewed the top, tipping it back, taking a couple deep gulps. He almost choked on it when the needle pierced his skin. Cherry stuck out her tongue as she worked, focusing on the action. He swallowed more of the booze back. She tied off the clear string with her teeth, setting it to the side before wrapping a bandage around his midsection. Cherry ignored the bruises on his ribs and spine, knowing that those were most likely from Valentino and Anthony wouldn’t want to talk about them. He never did. 

“All done.” Cherry grabbed the bottle out of his mouth, downing the remaining third. “You’re lucky that fucker didn’t hit anything vital.”

Anthony sighed leaning back on the couch, “Not lucky. He didn’t want to kill me. At first maybe, but not at the end.” 

“Why not?”

“Said I wasn’t fuckin’ entertaining enough or worth his fuckin’ time.” 

Cherry threw her long legs over his lap as she joined him on the couch, “Tell me why you’re obsessed with this guy again. Seems like your regular old piece of shit to me.”

“There’s something about ‘im. I don’t fuckin’ know.” A grin split through his features. “But I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?”

“Be fuckin’ entertainin’ for ‘im. Enough so, that I get to star in his little murder fantasies, until he can’t help but want to fuckin’ kill me.” 

“Angie--”

Anthony leaned in close to her, “And you’re gonna help.”

She shrugged, recognizing that look on his face and knew there was no way she could talk him out of whatever idea he had. “What do you need from me?”

“We’re gonna break into that narcissistic fuck’s house.” 

“Can I smash and steal some shit?”

“Ya know it, bitch.”

Her grin turned feral, “And this is why you’re my favorite guy to party with.” 

They fell asleep in a pile on the couch after drinking a couple more bottles of liquor, talking up plans about how they were going to break into the radio host’s house and exactly what they were going to get out of it. A drunk, lazy smile on Anthony’s face as he thought about all his plans to make sure that Alastor regretted not killing him that night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some more Angel! And thanks for all the love!

Anthony leaned against the glass wall of the inside of the phone booth. His fur jacket that he stole from Cherry’s closet wrapped snugly around him to keep the chill off his bones. One leg crossed over the other as smoke billowed around his face off the end of the cigarette. 

“What is it?” Valentino grunted on the other end of the line. “Off to disappear and fuck around again. And not in the fucking around I pay you to do.” 

“I got mugged and ended up gettin stabbed kinda bad. I’m gonna need the next few days off to heal up before I can perform.”

Valentino growled, “You think you can just demand time off whenever you want it, Angel? That’s not how this fucking works and you know it.” 

“But, Daddy, I need the time off real bad. Pretty please? I don’t think that the regulars would like seeing my insides on the stage anyways.”

“Ugh, fine. But there would be some sick fucks who would get off on that. You’ve got a week. But after that no time off for the next month, you got that, Angie cakes? I’m done with your bullshit and I need my top earner back on the corner or on the fucking stage.”

“Of course, Val, anythin’ ya want.” Anthony rolled his eyes as the line cut off. 

He rubbed at his face, feeling the remains of a hangover on his skin and pounding at the back of his eyelids. All he wanted to do was lie down and not get up for the next couple hours. The pain in his side ached, but he tried not to focus on it. 

“God fuckin’ dammit.” He groaned. 

A month straight of shows and whoring out. He was going to be sore and exhausted and he knew it. But there was nothing he could say in the matter. He was lucky that Valentino gave him a full week off to heal, let alone any. Valentino could’ve demanded he come work that very minute he asked for time off, especially after how pissed he’d been last night after some other girl he worked corners with ratted him out. Valentino would’ve found out anyways, Anthony knew, so he didn’t blame the other whore, but that didn’t mean he had to like her for it. She was trying to get ahead and get on Valentino’s good side. Most of the girls that worked for him would do anything for a chance at that. 

A sharp rap on the glass pulled Anthony out of his thoughts. He stomped out the rest of his cigarette beneath his heeled boot. Cherry glared at him over her sunglasses, gesturing with her head for him to get out of the booth. Her long hair was tied into a braid down her back. Leather and wool jackets zipped up to her throat against the cold. She got many looks from strangers that passed by, not only because of her captivating beauty, but because she was the only woman in sight in a pair of trousers instead of a skirt. Cherry ignored the jeers and the demands that were occasionally thrown her way to wear skirts and dresses. Anthony also dressed more masculine, outside of the white fur coat, with a pair of grey pinstripe trousers and a pink button up with braces. 

“So, Val let you off the hook?”

“In exchange for a month fuckin’ straight of schedulin’.” Anthony hooked an arm over her narrow shoulders. 

“Fucking shit. That sucks. But at least you can relax a little beforehand. Or you know, you could fucking--”

“If ya gonna tell me to quit again, ya can fuck off.”

Cherry lit up a cigarette and took a deep inhale. “Fuck. Just a suggestion.”

“I like sex and I like drugs. Whorin’ gives me both.” 

“If you say so. So, where does this fucker live?” 

Anthony plucked the cigarette out of her mouth and took a drag. Cherry glared at him, but didn’t stop him. “It’s a bit outside of town, so we’re gonna need to take the trolly.”

She adjusted the duffle bag across her chest, stealing back her cigarette. Someone yelled something at them as they walked to the trolly station. They flipped him off at the same time. Anthony licked his middle finger at him in a suggestive manner while Cherry gave the best death glare that he had ever seen. 

As they waited outside the trolly stop, Cherry spoke up, “So, last night, you said something about wanting him to drop his fucking smile?”

“Yeah,” Anthony crossed his arms over his chest. “Even when he looked fuckin’ tired with my shit, he never stopped smilin’. It was fuckin’ creepy. I want to be the one to stop him from smilin’. To really fuck with him.”

“To star in his murder fantasies, right?”

“Exactly, sugar tits.” 

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You’re fucking crazy. You’re purposefully agitating a serial killer into killing you.”

“C’mon, ya can’t say it won’t be fuckin’ fun to smash his shit and pawn all the good shit.” 

“I do need some more cash.” She picked at the dirt under her nails. “And taking it from the prick that stabbed you will be even fucking better.” 

He sideyed her, “What? The whole demolition job not making you enough dough?”

“Nah, you know that isn’t it. There’s plenty of places that need to be torn down with the depression and all the foreclosures and railroads and shit, but it can get annoying sometimes having to go to work dressed as a man everyday. You know how fucking hard it is to hide all those sexiness? Very.” It was true. She had curves for days and a bountiful bosom, wide hips and a narrow waist. “But luckily the demolition jobs I get under the table don’t make me have to dress all weird, so I prefer those.” 

“Ya mean threatening people for the mafia that you’re gonna blow their shit up?”

“I don’t actually blow them up.” Cherry laughed behind her cigarette. “At least most of the time. And you can’t fucking judge. You come from that whole life too.” 

“And I got outta there.”

“To be the best fucking whore in New Orleans.” She grinned at him. “It suits you better.”

He elbowed her, “Ya callin’ me a fuckin’ whore?”

“Yes, bitch.” She punched him in the arm harder than he’d elbowed her. 

The trolly pulled up to the station and they piled onto the crowded streetcar, dumping a few coins in the metal slot to pay for the ride. Anthony slid into an empty seat. Cherry continued standing, towering over him this way, plopping the duffle bag into his lap. She leaned against a rail above their heads. 

“You sure he won’t be home?” She whispered in his ear. 

Anthony gestured to the front of the streetcar where a radio sat on the dash. A lively jazz tune played out of the speakers before Alastor’s voice began to speak at the end of the song. “He’s workin’. He has to work late night shifts once a month.” 

“He does sound good. I’ll give you that.”

“Looks just as fuckin’ good as he sounds. Maybe even better.”

“None of that face made for radio bullshit?”

He shook his head, “That man should be on the fuckin’ silver screen.”

“Someone crushing on the local radio star?” 

“Nah. But I can recognize a good lookin’ man when I see one.” Anthony waved the comment off. “‘Course I would probably fuck ‘im, but I don’t think he’s into that.” 

“What do you mean?”

“When I was followin’ ‘im around, I never saw him go at it with anyone. And with how popular he is, he could fuck anyone he wants without problem. He even turned down Mimzy Benoit.” 

“So, is he a bit fruity like you?”

“More like not interested in nobody. Real popular, though, got a bunch of fuckin’ friends.” 

The streetcar came to a stop on a smaller, less populated street a bit outside of the heart of the city. Anthony grabbed Cherry’s hand and the duffle, dragging them both off the car, giving a nod and a thanks to the driver. The streetcar pulled down the street immediately after their feet touched the ground. 

“Fuck, Angie, this radio host most make a good amount of money to be living in a place like this.” A mischievous grin lit up her face. “I’m going to make some good cash on this trip.” 

“Knew ya’d be excited when ya saw where he lived.” 

They approached a small plantation style house with a large iron fence around the property. It was one of the smaller houses in the neighborhood, but still nicer than almost anywhere that either Anthony or Cherry had ever lived. Two levels of white pillars on the front, a small set of stairs that led up to the front door. Large windows on the front of the house with large curtains pulled open to let light into the parlour and kitchen he could see from the front porch. The front food was white and made of solid oak with a heavy deadbolt set into the frame. 

Cherry kneeled in front of the door, pulling out her set of lock picks. Anthony leaned against the door frame as she worked until he heard the click and it swung open on silent hinges. The sun settled along the horizon, threatening to dip into night as they entered the house, casting their shadows onto the cherrywood floor. Cherry kicked the door closed behind them as Anthony dropped the duffle onto the foyer. 

“Ready?” Cherry asked as she pulled out a baseball bat and a pair of bolt cutters. 

“You fuckin’ know it.” He smirked at her, grabbing a can of neon pink paint and a brush. 

They split up, Cherry tackling the first floor while Anthony went up to the second. The carpeted steps creaked beneath his weight as he went up. He peeked through the rooms, finding a fully stocked bathroom and a guest room. The last room at the end of the hall was the master bedroom. It looked more like a library, with bookshelves covering every wall except for the large armoire and dresser shoved into the corner. A large four poster bed sat in the middle of the room. Anthony set down the can of paint and brush, jumping onto the red comforter. The bed soaked up his weight. He laid back, relaxing into the mattress as he stared up at the ceiling. Anthony turned onto his belly and shoved his face into the pillow. It smelled like artificial sugar and strawberries and sweat. He breathed in the scent, trying to commit it to memory, knowing that this would be as close as he would be able to get smelling Alastor. His hands snaked under the pillow, bumping into something cold and hard. Anthony pulled the small out from under the covers.

“Even sleep with one, huh, Smiles.” He unsheathed it and held it up to the fading sunlight. 

Anthony stabbed it downwards, into the plush pillows and mattress. He shredded them with Alastor’s knife. Over and over he slammed the knife, up to the hilt, into the bedding, taking out the desire to slam it into the radio host. He heard the crash of glass breaking and things being slammed onto the ground from downstairs. He continued on his rampage, tearing the books from their meticulous shelves and tossing them all of the room, grabbing the clothes from the closest and tossing them or taking the knife to them. Anthony broke open the can of paint and went to work. 

He moved on to the guest room, pulling out the dresser drawer and digging through the desk. Nothing of interest. No hidden knives or personal mementos. He moved onto the bathroom. Anthony looked at himself in the mirror, fixing this hair and picking at the pimple on his hairline. He ran a hand absentmindedly over the rim of the claw footed tub, imagining what it would be like to take a both in it. If he might just do it. Alastor could come home and find him naked and enjoying his amenities with the house a total wreck. He’d probably kill him then. He laughed at the thought, but let it go. Anthony wouldn’t be the feast waiting on the table for Alastor anymore. Alastor would have to come to him if he wanted Anthony dead. 

Anthony eyed the medicine cabinet, pulling it open behind the mirror. He sighed. Nothing fun. Alastor really could be a straight razor of a guy when he wasn’t off killing people. Anthony left the bathroom, heading downstairs to find Cherry. She had worked up a sweat. The duffle practically filled to the brim with anything that she could pawn or keep. 

“Anything?” She raised a brow at him. 

“Nah. Just books and this knife.” He held up the blade for her to see. 

“Going to keep it?”

“A trophy of sorts. Ya got everythin’?” 

“Almost.” She smirked, dragging him into the kitchen and to a door on the farside. It had two deadbolts, a chain, and a lock keeping it held shut. “Thought we should look at what’s down there together. You think it could be a fucking sex dungoen or something like that?”

“Probably a torture dungeon over sex dungeon.” 

“Fucking lame.” 

“Right? Let’s get this bitch open.” Anthony grabbed the boltcutter from her hand and cut off the lock, letting Cherry focus on the deadbolts. 

They clicked open under her masterful touch. She hip checked the door open as it stuck into its too-tight frame. The steps down into the basement were unfinished and felt like they would collapse under any weight. Cherry pulled on the cord above them, illuminating the space. The walls were finished, heavily insulated by the looks of it. The sloping floors were made of cement with a drain in the center. On the far corner sat two large ice boxes. A chair saw in the middle of the roam, with a metal table pushed into the wall. A small stand with wheels stood near the chair. 

“Wow. This place isn’t fucking creepy in the slightest.” Cherry hissed through clenched teeth, wrapping her arms around her middle. 

“Be lucky there’s no dead body down here.” He eyed the ice boxes. “Well, that ain’t entirely true.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Angie?”

“Nothin’. Forget I said anythin’.” 

She rolled her eyes and headed back for the stairs. “Stay down here as long as you want, but I’m going to check to make sure that you didn't forget anything upstairs.” 

Anthony walked over the ice boxes, cutting off the locks that held them closed with the bolt cutters, peeling open the metal lids on one of them. Inside sat brown paper and twine wrapped packages of all shapes and sizes. He dug around through the ice box, realizing that most of what it had in store looked to be venison and other wild caught game. He found some other mysterious meat, but he couldn’t tell if it was human or alligator or bobcat. In the other ice box, he hit the motherload, or what he assumed to be. It definitely didn’t look like an animal. He slammed the lid closed. 

“Hey, Angel, you ready?”

“I’ll be up in a moment.” 

Anthony ignored the devices on the rack against the wall in the corner, or the ones Alastor picked out to have on the small stand. Cherry waited for him at the top of the stairs that lead into the kitchen. She held out a framed photograph for him. It showed a small boy with brown hair falling into his face and a bright grin on his face. He wore dirty knickers with patches in the knees and a bow tie around his slender neck. A dark skinned woman had an arm wrapped around his shoulders, looking down at him with the biggest, most loving smile that Anthony had ever seen. 

“What do you want to do with this?” 

He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from the photograph, “Put it back where you found it.” 

“You’re sure?” She looked the picture over. “If you messed with this it would probably piss him off the most. It’s the only photograph I can find in the fucking place.” 

“I meant it.” Anthony swiped the photograph out of her hand. “We’re puttin’ this back. I’m not fuckin’ with this.” He placed it on the kitchen table, giving it one last look before he left the room. 

Cherry sauntered out behind him. The duffle bag swung along her shoulders and stuffed to fill. 

“Are you done?”

“I think so. Let’s get goin’ before he gets back.” 

“I’m surprised you dont want to see the look on his fucking face when he gets back.”

He chuckled, closing the front door behind the two of them. The sun had fully set and night settled in. “Just imaginin’ his face is all I need. If he wants to kill me for this he’ll have to come find me. If he don’t I got more plans up my sleeve to make him fuckin’ break.” 

“That’s the Angie I know. Let’s beat it.” Cherry wrapped an arm around his shoulders, dragging him away from the house and to the streetcar station.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I write this instead of studying for university finals...Everyone enjoy!

Brown eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness of the house, illuminated by the moon and spilled over the glow of the streetlights. A grin split through his face. Sharp enough to kill. And was going to. Alastor swore he was going to kill Angel that night. Saying he was angry was an understatement. He was livid. As he walked through his house to see it destroyed and violated, everything screamed at him to find the man and kill him. Slowly, painfully. For days. Make sure that no one else ever thought they could do this to him.

Alastor walked up to his bedroom and flipped the switch of the light. Everything was torn out of place and shredded like a wild animal came through with a vendetta. Maybe that is what Angel was. A wild animal he should’ve put down. 

He laughed. Doubled over, laughed from deep in his gut. 

I AM WORTHY FUCKER sprawled in neon pink across his wood floors. 

His grin softened from the murderous smile that he wore since he entered his house. Most of him demanded to kill the man who would do this, but there was the smallest part of him, one that was becoming most insistent as he walked through his ravaged home, that told him not. Because this was exciting. Entertaining. Fun. 

Angel didn’t disappoint. Alastor couldn’t this little bit of entertainment escape now that he had. A part of him wondered what he was going to do next. He needed to know what else Angel had planned for him. The thought sent shivers of excitement down his spine. Almost enough to subdue the fury rumbling beneath his skin. Alastor slipped off his jacket, hanging it up in the remains of his armoire, rolling the sleeves of his button down up to his elbows. Before he could do anything, Alastor needed to clean up the mess that Angel made. He began to pick up the pieces of fabric and pillow fluff before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Not with the remains of deadly anger still singing in his blood. He couldn’t focus on cleaning up the mess when all he wanted to do was slaughter something. It had been days. Too long. The cravings came back with a rush. The anger turned it into a sharp pang of need in his gut. 

Alastor left his bedroom and headed down to the kitchen, aiming for the phone, hoping that it would still be functional. He halted midstep as he entered the kitchen. The framed photo of his mother sat on the kitchen table, unharmed. 

“At least he has some class.” Alastor muttered under his breath. 

The candlestick phone had been knocked off the hook and lie smashed into pieces with the wires torn out of the base. Alastor sighed, shaking his head. It would take him longer than he would have liked to find a phone booth and deal with this mess. He leaned with his back against his kitchen table. The picture of his mother’s smiling face looked up at him. 

“What am I going to do with him, Mama? I guess we will both have to see. I do not even know.” Alastor rubbed his thumb over the photograph. 

He knew that his mother would be upset with him for who he had become. The woman couldn’t harm a fly and she tried to instill that same sanctity of life into her son, but it all became so twisted. Alastor had only valued her life at the time and that had been taken from him. He still couldn’t believe that he let Angel go last night, blaming it on the alcohol instead of going to the deeper root of the issue. How familiar he looked. The bruises marred his skin in a sick, nostalgic constellation. Alastor hadn’t been in the right mind last night. 

Alastor pushed off the kitchen table, grabbing a warmer wool and leather jacket, one that wasn't totally destroyed or stolen, from the hall closet. He found a phone booth a half mile from his house, closer to the city, at one of the streetcar stops. The booth smelled like stale piss and vomit, almost making him want to gag, but he held the reaction back. He placed a nickel into the machine and dialed a familiar number. 

A sleepy voice answered the phone, “The Happy Rehabilitation Center, what can I do for you?”

“Charlie, dear, can you please put Niffty on the line?”

“Al? Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong? Can I do anything? Are you alright? Are you safe?”

“Yes, I am fine. I need you to put on Niffty, please.” 

“Alrighty dighty. Be right back.” 

He waited a few long moments before she returned with an anxious Niffty in tow. “Alastor, is everything alright?” Nifty asked. 

“Yes. But can you get Charlotte to leave? I do not need her eavesdropping right now.” 

Niffty made a quick excuse to get Charlie to leave the front desk. He heard her go with a huff, muttering something about how he could trust her too, under her breath. 

“What do you need?” 

“There has been a bit of a mess made at my home and you seemed like just the doll to help me clean it up.” 

“What happened? Is everything alright? Did you get robbed? Why would someone rob you? Maybe because you’re pretty well off. Or maybe because they don’t like your radio show. Do you know who it is? If you do you'll probably hunt them down. Which is probably what you’re going to do tonight and why you need me to clean. Should I call Husk and get him to help too? Or is it not that big of a mess?” 

“It is a good sized mess, and yes, it does look like he took some things, but nothing I particularly care about. I am going to be spending most of the night out tonight, so if you could head over and get started so that I will have a place to sleep later, I would appreciate it darling. If you want to kill Husker over to help, that will be your decision to make. I do not care what you do, as long as it becomes livable by the time I get back.” 

“I’m going to call him. We should be able to be over to your place in a half hour.” 

“Sounds delightful, darling. Now I have to go. I have important business to take care of.” 

She chuckled. “Have fun Alastor.” Niffty hung up. 

Alastor left the booth, continuing his walk back towards the heart of the city. He found a song to hum to keep his mind occupied as he walked. His stomach growled and he realized that he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Alastor rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, realizing that he forgot to check his basement. If Angel had spoiled his meat, he swore he would fill the ice box with his corpse. 

He was so caught up in his thoughts and worries that Alastor didn’t expect it when someone completely rammed into his shoulder, throwing off his step. 

“Watch where ya going.”

Alastor’s lips curled, “I could say the same to you, old sport.” He looked the man up and down. A round face, a miskept red beard, and a fat beer belly. He stunk like sweat and booze. If Alastor hadn’t mastered his facial features, he would have curled in disgust. Not quality meat at all. “Have a good evening.” 

He stalked away, leaving the man to turn back around with disgust. “Fucking mulatto bitch.” He swore another slur as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

Alastor’s smile turned deadly as he spun on his heel. The knife he kept with him slid out of its spot tucked into his pants and he slipped it against the man’s throat. He licked his lips as he saw the trail of blood bubble up from the small cut. “What was that you called me, old sport? Because I do not think I liked the sounds of it.” 

“The fuck you doing?”

“I am taking out the trash.” Alastor swiped the blade quickly against the exposed throat, tearing the skin away until blood spurted and poured from the wound, cutting through the trachea and the tender muscles until the vocal cords snapped beneath the force. 

He let the body drop hard on his knees. The man’s hand jumped to his throat to stop the rush of blood, but to no avail. He coughed and sputtered, but it wasn’t enough to satiate the bloodlust Alastor felt. He might’ve been a terrible human being, but not the right one. He was ugly, inside and out. Alastor didn’t care to even taste his blood. Let alone his precious organs. He needed to find someone else and soon. The urge to slaughter grew into a frenzy that buzzed in his blood. 

Alastor could taste the coppery, sweet blood on his tongue. He had to admit, Angel’s blood had been delicious when he got a taste last night. Intoxicatingly sweet with that metallic sting underneath it. He almost changed his mind about killing the man when he got a taste of how sweet he could be. Maybe he would track down Angel. Only to get another taste. Alastor shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He refused to chase Angel down. He knew it was exactly what he wanted. Alastor would play his game a little longer. See what move he would make next. 

He cleaned the blade of his knife off on the black handkerchief. It shone beneath the street light, reflecting his face back at him. Mad with the hunger and smile threatening to tear his face in two. Alastor slipped it back into his pocket, clasping his hands behind his back and continuing on his way. He would find another. One that called to him to kill. One that could calm the need and hunger for the night. 

“Heyya there pretty boy, interested in come company for the evening?”

Alastor turned, realizing that he was being directed at. A woman leaned against a corner of a building, smoke billowing around her head. She wore only a slip with a corset that connected to thigh highs over it. Her light blond hair curled loose around her shoulders. 

“And you are?” He asked. 

“Call me Honey, darling.” 

Normally Alastor ignored prostitutes when they accosted him for business, but there was something about this one that seemed perfect for him. Not for sex, but to fill that other animalistic hunger inside of him. She was tall for a woman, with a heart shaped face. Her brown eyes watched his face as he looked her up and down. 

“Would you like to join me for the evening?” Alastor bowed low at the waist, extending a gloved hand. She clasped her hand within his, slipping it up his arm to rest in the crook of his elbow, and he led her away from the corner. “How are you tonight, dear?”

She looked up at him, “Do you really care?” 

“Thought we should fill the quiet with something.” 

She sighed, squeezing his arm. “I’m doing alright, darling. A little irritated with my boss, that’s all.” 

“And why is that?”

“I found out one of the others, the boss’s favorite, was skipping out on working the corner, so I let the boss know, but all he did was thank me and send me on my way. I really thought maybe that this was the time that he would notice me. I even dyed my hair to look similar so that he would notice me more, but nothing.” 

“You are beautiful in your own right, so I would not worry too much about it.” 

Alastor let her continue to chatter on and complain until they reached a cheap motel a couple blocks from where he found her. He knew that this was the type of establishment that wouldn’t care about a prostitute in their rooms or what happened to her in there. A perfect place for him with his house being out of order. She waited outside for him while he ordered a room. The attendant at the desk refused to look up from her magazine as she took the cash and handed him back a key. He placed a hand on her lower back, leading her to the room. Alastor locked the door behind them as she sat on the bed and began to untie the corset laces from around her slender waist. She peeled it off, snapping the hooks off of her stockings. The slip tossed over her head. It left her bare before him. 

Alastor walked up to her, pressing lightly on her shoulder to get her to lie down on her back. He dragged his hand along her body, between her full breasts and down the fatty curve of her belly, stopping above the nest of dark hair at her pelvis. Her supple skin accepted his touch with ease. Her legs opened wider on instinct. She was objectively beautiful, aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but nothing about her aroused him. He felt nothing close to desire for the woman before him. He moved his hand back up to her face, cupping her cheek gently. He climbed onto the bed, shifting his weight over her. Alastor moved his hand up her cheek and covered her mouth with his palm before slipping the knife that was concealed behind his back out for her to see. 

Her eyes widened when she saw the blade. She tried to pull away from him, to get away from him, but his superior strength held her pinned, encaged by his knees pressing onto each of her hip bones. Alastor pressed the blade to the front of the column of her throat, just enough to break the skin, but not enough to kill, dragging it down past her clavicle and breasts to reside at her navel. Bright red blood followed the edge of his blade, beading up against her pearlescent skin. 

She clawed at her arms and jacket, trying to scratch at his face, but he kept it out of reach of her hands. His smile grew wider as she struggled. Now this is what he missed. Angel didn’t seem to care if he lived or died, truly. It made it no fun. He gave in too easily for Alastor’s tastes. This was a hunt and if the prey didn’t try to escape then the predator was nothing more than someone taking advantage of the weak. He needed his prey to fight back, to have life within them. However, Angel had life. A large, fiery bit of life that he’d shown today. His smile softened at the thought, but only for a moment, before growing gleeful again as he returned back to the prostitute’s face with the knife. 

Alastor slipped it inside her mouth, pressing the flat of it against her tongue as he withdrew his hand. She bit down on it. But he needed to do this. Needed to mark in the same way that symbolized all his victims. At least the ones that he cared about. He needed them to smile for him. A bloody, disgusting, inhumane smile as Alastor heard the police call it. Alastor grabbed her jaw, focing her mouth open so that he could maneuver the blade into place at the corner of her lips. Her nails dug harder into his biceps as he slowly split the skin open beneath the knife’s edge. She whimpered, trying to move her head away, but he held it in place by her jaw. Alastor dragged the blade upward, curving it into a sick mockery of a grin until it hit the cheek bone, stopping it from going any further northward. He continued on the other side of her face until the two matching slits smiled back up at him. 

It was a beautiful sight to behold. She sank into the covers. Her body shivered with tremors as she wept. She slowly raised her shaking hand when he wasn’t paying attention, too focused on where to cut into her next to notice, and grabbed his chin, digging her nails into his cheek until she drew blood. Alastor grabbed her wrist and tore it away from his face. His grin sharpened in delight and malice. He grabbed her other hand and stacked them on top of each other above her head, slamming his knife into the soft flesh of her palms, nailing them to the mattress. She wailed against him. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Alastor slipped his hand under her armpit, popping her shoulder out of the socket. A high pitched scream erupted from her throat. He released the other joint from the socket. She cried out. Her teeth clacked together as she tried to talk over the blood filling and spilling out of her mouth. Blood stained her teeth and lips a bright crimson. 

Alastor pulled the knife from its holster in her open palms. He punched the point of the knife from her dislocated shoulder, snapping through ligaments and muscle and skin and fat, along the protruding bone of her clavicle to the middle of her breast bone. Alastor did the same on the other side, creating a bright red ‘Y’ across her torso. Below her sternum, he broke through more layers of muscle and skin, the places he was able to reach without the pesky breast bone and ribs getting in the way. He sliced deeply across her lower belly, between her hips bones, and across her torso, between the last set of ribs. Alastor dug his fingers into the slender line that cut through her belly, pulling at the skin and muscle until it gave way beneath his touch. It ripped and tore open for him until her insides were exposed to him. Her eyes fluttered closed as her breath left her. 

“You are beautiful, my dear. I meant what I said.” Alastor slipped his fingers and the knife around her organs, severing the liver and kidneys and intestines. She choked and coughed on the blood filling her throat. “I am surprised you’ve stayed alive this long. However, it will not be long now. You have lost too much blood.” 

She looked up at him with half-lidded, pleading eyes. Almost as if to beg him to end it sooner rather than wait any longer. Before he could move, her eyes stared off into nothing and glazed over. One last rattling breath escaped her open mouth. 

He tore his gaze away from her face and dropped the organs onto the bed next to her. His hands curled into fists in front of him, dropped the knife, and pressed them against his forehead. Exhaustion crept up on him faster than he realized. He sighed as the adrenaline of the kill left him and his body threatened to fold in on itself. Alastor collapsed onto the bed next to the body, curling in on himself. Realization settled on him as his eyes grew heavy with sleep. It wasn’t her fault that she looked like the real person that he wanted to kill or that Alastor didn’t even realize how much Angel had crept into his head after one day, that he was even choosing his victims based on the man. 

A soft smile replaced his manic grin, thinking about how he was going to play the game next with Angel. As he had made his move. Alastor didn’t kill Angel. It was Angel’s turn to make the next move in this game of theirs, that was only just beginning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another longer chapter for everyone to enjoy! If there is ever any spelling or grammar issues, feel free to let me know! Now, more Alastor for everyone. He's an interesting character fro me, because I really feel more kinship with Angel.

Alastor woke up stiff and sore. The dawn light barley filtering in through the flimsy, floral curtain. He rolled off his side, falling off the bed and onto his back on the carpet. It knocked the breath from his chest for a moment. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, slowly sitting up. Alastor peeled himself off the flattened, half rotted through carpet and slowly to his feet. His head swum. An ache built up behind his eyes. His stomach growled as he dragged himself over to the bathroom. He stripped off his blood soaked gloves, plopping them in the stained ceramic sink. His glasses tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket, but he ignored them as he washed his face with cool water from the tap. 

He took a double take at the face that stared back at him. Alastor sighed as he poked at the scratch marks on his jaw and cheek, rubbing away the scabs and dried blood. His eyes sunk into his face with heavy dark baggage beneath them. Blood stained his button up and sprayed against the column of his throat. Alastor reached out to touch the reflection of the man in the mirror that smiled back at him, grinning from ear to ear like it was carved into his features without his control. He watched as the water darkened with the reddish brown blood that washed out of his gloves. Alastor rubbed at his face, trying to shake sanity back into the permanent grin and the wide eyed stare. 

Tossing his jacket onto the toilet, Alastor unbuttoned his waist coat and let it fall off his shoulders. He dragged himself out of the bathroom, ignoring the body and spillage of organs on the bed, and focused on the phone by the bedside table. There was no way he could leave the motel looking the way he did. He dialed a familiar number, bypassing the operator, waiting for the familiar voice to pick up. 

“Rosie speaking. May I ask who’s calling?” 

Alastor let out a sigh of relief at hearing her familiar cajun drawl. “It is me, dear. I am in a bit of a bind and I need your help.” 

“Alastor? What happened?”

“I will explain when you arrive, darling. I’m at a motel off Canal and Rampart. Number six. I need you to get here as soon as you can with a new change of clothes.” Alastor remembered the scratches on his face. “And some medical supplies.” 

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Can you wait that long?”

“Yes. I can. I will see you then.” He hung up the telephone and disappeared back into the bathroom. 

Alastor started the shower, grabbing those small soap bars they kept at the side of the sink, stripping out of the rest of his suit. The cold water hit his head and soaked his dark hair, but he barely paid it any mind as he scrubbed off any remaining blood and grime from his skin. His movements were rushed, haphazard, trying to think about the thoughts he had last night or the fact that he left the corpse on the bed without finishing. His stomach felt empty and his head continued to ache. He scratched at his scalp. 

Angel. The name ricocheted through his head. Alastor’s smashed house and destroyed belongings. The violation of his home and space. Anger flared under his skin and warmed his face. His cheeks ached from the grin that spread wider across his face. Alastor thought back to the dream he had the night before, the images of it escaped him in the waking hours, but he knew that the man that broke into his house played a starring role in it. 

He turned off the water, letting the water drip off his skin as he stared at the chipped tile wall. Alastor punched the aged wall. Over and over. Until his knuckles cut and bled. Blood mixed with residual water on his skin. The bones in his hand and wrist ached from the abuse. Alastor climbed over the tan tub and grabbed one of the complimentary towels from beneath the sink, rubbing his hair down and wiping the water from his skin. He had to let the anger go. Alastor knew this. He didn't want to kill the man; it would end his fun too soon, but the fury he felt when he thought about him was unrivaled. If he didn’t get control of it, the feeling would end up breaking through and controlling him. The long game. Alastor had to play the long game. Play the game until he grew bored, which he would eventually, then carve out the worst pain he had ever given someone on Angel until he was begging for release sincerely. 

A knock at the door to the motel room cut through his thoughts of how he was going to torture Angel. Alastor wrapped the towel around his slender waist. He looked through the peephole in the door to see the blackskinned woman that he expected on the other side. Alastor relaxed the chain, unlocking it, half hiding behind it when he opened it for her as he didn’t need the whole world seeing him dressed in only a towel. He barely would allow Rosie. Except for the fact that she had patched him up too many times and seen him naked before for him to hide from her anymore. 

“Welcome, my dear Rosie.” 

She sighed through her nose as she took in the room, “Oh Alastor. What did you do?”

“I may have lost control a bit last night.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It looks like an unfinished mess.” Rosie examined the room, ignoring looking at him. “Tell me. What led to this? This doesn’t look like your usual work. It’s so messy and haphazard. You even let your favorite cuts go to waste, letting the corpse lose all value. Not like you at all.” 

“I have to admit. I was a tad bit emotional last night. I also have not eaten in a couple days, so, it seems, I ended up passing out after the adrenaline wore off.” 

Rosie turned on her heel, stalking over to him. She pointed her finger at him. Close enough that she could have touched him if she felt like it. But even if she was angry with him, she respected his touch aversion. And it was obvious that she was upset with him. From the firm set of her jaw, to the tightening of her lips, to the furrow of her brow. 

“You have to take better care of yourself, Alastor, getting sloppy like this will end up with you getting caught. That’s not like I taught you at all. Never kill when emotional. Unless you’re in full control of those emotions.” 

“I know I know, Rosie dear, but there were extenuating circumstances.” 

She moved him to sit in the chair at the corner, checking out the scratches on his face and the split skin across his knuckles. “And what could those be?”

“My house was broken into last night and I was robbed.”

“Was she the culprit?” Rosie dug through her bag, pulling out antiseptic. She pressed it into a ball of cotton. 

Alastor grinned wider at the sting of the antiseptic on his face. “No. Only looked similar to the culprit.” 

“Why didn’t you just go for the actual perpetrator?” 

“I couldn’t find them.” Alastor lied. Half lied. He never even looked for Angel. “She was a substitute.” 

“Substitutes never work to get rid of the anger and frustration when the real thing is out there. I thought I taught you better.” 

“It helps.” He grinned at her, tilting his head to the side almost like a puppy. 

“Don’t try your charm on me, Alastor. You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“It does not hurt to try. Especially with such a fearsome look on your face. You can be so scary sometimes, Rosie dear.” She pressed an adhesive bandage to his face, wrapping his knuckles in white cloth. Alastor watched her turn away from him before he discarded the towel and changed into the black knitted turtleneck and black trousers and the set of braces that Rosie brought with her. It was more casual than he was used to, but it wasn’t like he was going out covered in blood or naked. “Thank you for coming by and bringing the clothes and medical supplies. I truly appreciate it.” 

“Let’s go. We can leave this mess for the police to find. Grab anything that could incriminate you. I’m famished and you must be starving.” Rosie checked the watch on her slender wrist. “We have a little bit of time before you have to be at the recording studio for your broadcast. Give me your key to the room. I’ll check you out and we can be on our way.”

“Sounds marvelous, darling.” He tossed her the key to the room before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Alastor gathered his old clothes in the bag that Rosie brought with her, zipping it closed to hide the evidence. He felt almost bare without his gloves, but he would have to survive without them. Alastor tugged the sleeves of his sweater down past his wrists. 

Rosie returned, pushing open the door to lean against the doorway, “Ready, Alastor?”

“Of course.” He shut the door behind him, beelining for the automobile parked in the lot outside his door. “Have you a place in mind for us to eat?”

“Yes, Alastor. And don’t think you’re getting out of telling me what all happened to create that mess last night.” 

Rosie slid into the driver’s side of the automobile. Alastor slipped in next to her. He rested his head on his fist, staring out the window. A sigh escaped his nose as they drove in silence. Alastor was excited for the day that radio’s eventually ended up in automobiles, but until then, he was forced to feel the weight of Rosie’s oppressive silence as she drove. 

He thought back to when he met Rosie. It was almost a decade ago. Alastor still worked at that small butcher shop on St. Charles Ave. She came in one say, dressed to the nines as always. Her dark, kinky hair tied into twin knots on top of her head. She was one of the only black women that Alastor had the chance to associate other than his mother at that time, as he was busy with taking care of her and working at the butcher shop. She was always unapologetic in her creole blackness. Her hair in its natural state or braids or dreads, but never did he ever see with the relaxant that was popular. 

Rosie came in and ordered the same order every time. Each week he would be anticipating her arrival and had it prepared for her before he even saw her dark skinned face in the glass front. Something about her called him to her. At first, he thought that maybe it could be the vestiges of a crush or infatuation, something he had never experienced, but instead it turned out that like called to like. Before he knew it, Alastor talked to her about anything and everything when she came into the butcher shop. Eventually they got onto the concept of how the best way to butcher a human would be. That was a hot debate between them. As Alastor would learn, because it was his theoretical ideas and experiences with animals versus her practical experience with actual human corpses. 

She helped to free him, to understand the blasphemous, carnal desires within him, pushing him to his first kill and teaching him after on the right ways to get rid of a body and not let the police in on their actions. Rosie found someone like herself in him and helped him bloom, feeding him blood instead of water and corpses instead of sunlight. She mentored him, took care of him when he needed it, berated him when he was a fool. 

He watched her pull up along the waterfront and stop the engine. Rosie hopped out of the automobile, mindful of her shin length skirts, rounding the front to wait for Alastor to follow suit. After stepping out the seat, he held his elbow out for her to take, letting her lead him to the restaurant in mind. 

Cafe du Monde was packed as ever with lines out the front and the tent like drapery over the outdoor seating covered in frost and leftover rain from the night before. Rosie led her way past the line of patrons to the hostess. She quirked a brow in his direction. Alastor put on his most charismatic smile, aiming for the hostess. 

“Alastor Leveau. I was hoping I would be able to get a table for two. It is pretty urgent, as I was hoping that I could get a taste of this place before my radio show today.” 

The hostess lit up at the familiarity of his voice. “It’ll be just a moment, Mista’ Leveau.”

“Thank you, darling.” He inclined his head towards her, closing the gap more than he was usually comfortable with, lowering his voice to a rumbling timber. “I appreciate the hospitality.” 

Her face warmed as Alastor stepped back from the hostess. She led them through the thrum of tables and frazzled waitstaff. He pulled out Rosie’s chair for her, pushing it in once she was settled. Alastor took a seat across from her. He tried to figure out her thought process. This was one of the busiest places to go in the mornings. If she wanted to talk about illicit things, a quieter location might have been better. However, it was crowded to the bursting, so everyone was concerned with themselves and not bored enough to gossip or eavesdrop on their neighbor. When a waitress came by, they both ordered the hickory coffee, with cream for Rosie, without for Alastor and a plate of beignets to share between the two of them. The sweet, fluffy doughnuts arrived, along with the pungent coffee. 

“Enjoying it, my dear?”

“Exquisite as always.” Rosie said over the rim of her mug. She set it down on the slender saucer, leveling her icy gaze and carefree, soft smile at him. Two polar expressions that danced on her delicate features. “Now, tell me, Alastor. What got you so riled up? You said there was a breakin at your home, but don’t think I will take you lying to me about the perpetrator laying down.” 

“You never take anything lying down, Rosie, dear.” He dusted off some of the excess powdered sugar from the sweet treat before plopping one steaming pastry in his mouth. “It is true that I was angered by my house being broken into, but it was by someone, you could say, that I know.” 

“You know who broke into your house? Was it that Magne girl? Or her bad tempered lover?”

“No. No. Neither. It was a young man that has been stalking me. I confronted him the night prior, and he asked me to kill him. To kill him! Can you believe it? But I did not. Obviously. I told him that he wasn’t worth killing or my time. So, he broke into my house, robbed me, and wrote ‘I am worthy, fucker’ on my bedroom floor.” 

“So, why haven’t you killed him?”

Alastor stared into the dark expanse in his coffee cup, “But he is entertaining. I find myself excited to see what he is going to do next even if I want to wring his skinny neck and torture him for what he has done. That feels like a waste of potential boredom alleviation.” 

She clucked her tongue against the ridge of her mouth, “Typical, Alastor. Both the entertainer and the forever audience. What makes you think that this boy is worth the change at potential entertainment?”

“There is something that draws me in and wants to see what he can come up with next. It is exhilarating. He is a bit of a joker that one. I could see it even when he told me to kill. Of course, the manner of which did come into play.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Very sexual about it. Really threw me for a loop.” He shuddered at the memory.

Rosie chucked behind a gloved hand. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill him right there for any such suggestion.” 

“Too easy. You might like your easy marks, my dear, but I can say that it takes the fun out of it.” 

“You were always quality to my quantity.” She tossed him a sharp grin. “Tell me more about this little slice of potential fun you have found.” 

“He claimed his name to be Angel, but I do not doubt for a second it is a pseudonym. Other than that I do not have much to go home. Young and blond. Such interesting eyes. One brown. The other grey. He was dressed rather casual and lightly for the cold night now that I think about it. He was covered in bruises and his lip was split. Angel is also my stalker.”

Rosie cocks a brow at that, but squashes down any comment or comparison to a certain boy, who was now the man that sat across from her. Alastor might ignore the less than pleasant aspects of his past, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people around who remembered them. Who made sure that those moments never happened again. Alastor looked at her, knowing the thoughts running through her mind as she watched his face. The ones he didn’t want to contemplate. Rosie chewed thoughtfully on one of the pillowy pastries. 

“If he’s your stalker, this Angel must know quite a bit about you.”

“Yes, indeedy.” Alastor finished off the rest of his coffee.

“Would you like that to change? I could have a couple of my connections try to figure out some information about him. It shouldn’t be hard to find a young man with heterochromia that goes by Angel.” 

“Why, that sounds delightful. A way to get the upper hand on him. Please do, darling. I would like to be able to surprise my stalker at least once or twice. As he never seemed fazed by the other information.” 

She narrowed her dark eyes, “What do you mean, ‘other information’, Alastor?”

“I mean, he does not seem fazed by my more entertaining activities that I relegate to personal time.” 

“Oh, really?” Her eyes narrowed further.

Alastor pulled out his pocket watch from the pocket of his slacks, eyeing the time. “Won’t you look at that?” He placed a couple bills on the table and slipped on the black suit jacket that he hung over the back of the chair. “Thank you for a wonderful morning, Rosie, dear, but it looks like I have to be on my way. I cannot be late for work. You know how it is.” 

“I do. I’ll see you later though, Alastor. I will try to gather as much information on your Angel as I can, but please do keep me in mind should there be any developments in terms of entertaining prospects.” Rosie waved him off with a twidle of her fingers. “Have a good day.” 

Alastor’s face blasted with cool air when he walked out of the tented patio of Cafe du Monde. The wet coldness stuck to his skin and dampened his hair. He walked along the streetcar lines and cobbled stone streets on the way to the broadcasting studio. Wind blew at his back, kissing his exposed nape and hands. Alastor entered through the back of the studio, heading to his recording booth, knowing to expect normal Husk’s growl and sneer. Speak of the devil. Alastor’s grin grew as he spotted his producer lounging against the door to the studio, sipping from a flask that disappeared into the inner lining of his jacket and smoking a half burned down cigarillo. A newspaper fluttered in the elder man’s hands. 

“Finally. Took you fucking long enough. What the fuck are you wearing? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t need to fucking know.” Husk grumbled as he slipped the paper under his armpit. The cigarillo dangled between his scowling lips. “Let’s get this show on the road.” 

Alastor took a seat in his swiveling chair, grabbing the earphones and placing them over his head. Husk disappeared into the production booth and slipped a matching pair of earphones over one side of his face. They tested the sound of the microphone and the record player, making sure the faders were in their correct alignments, without as much fuzzy static as possible. Alastor ran his long fingers through the boxes of records, pulling some out that he felt in the mood to play in the day's show. 

The show went off without a hitch. The records spun without skipping off the needle or tracks. Alastor’s voice and commentary primed to perfection regardless of the night before. It captivated whoever listened, drawing them in and ensnaring them. He grinned behind the microphone as the show ended and he said his signature closing lines. 

The moment the ‘ON AIR’ lights clicked off and Alastor was about to stand, there was a sharp knock into his broadcasting room before the door burst open. Alastor stifled down the urge to cringe as he spotted the man in the doorway.

“Oh, Allie boy, it’s been forever.” Vox smirked at the radio host. “You should come by my office sometime.” 

“And why would I need to do that?”

“To see what you’re missing out on, of course. Speaking of which,” Vox dug into the inner lining of his suit jacket, pulling out a navy blue envelope. He holds it out to Alastor, wagging another of the same at Husk who is luckily still inside the producer’s booth. “I don’t want you missing out on this party that I am throwing the Saturday before Mardi Gras. You just have to come. It won’t be the same without you, Allie.” 

Alastor fought every urge in his body that screamed at him to tear Vox apart at the nickname. Vox picked it up from the elder Magne when Alastor had interviewed him once for the broadcast. Alastor swore never to allow the two in the same room ever again. Lucifer Magne might have a small bit of mutual respect for Alastor, but he always had the strangest ways of showing it. Now Vox used the nickname to torture him every chance he got. Alastor grabbed the envelopes out of the station manager’s hand, tucking one into his jacket; the other he waved at Husk. He knew Husk would almost never show up the engagement, but Alastor was pretty sure that it would be mandatory for him, unless he wanted to get the worst show hours for a month as retaliation. 

“I hope to see you there.” Vox gave a small salute, leaving the booth. 

“And I hope I never have to see you again. Forever would be too short.” Alastor muttered under his breath. “I will leave your invitation on the table. I need to get home.” 

Husk ducked his head out of the production booth.“Nif called me over last night to help. What the fuck happened, Al? Looks like a fucking hurricane went through the place.”

“A little disagreement between parties.”

He laughed through his nose and rolled his eyes, “That’s what you call ‘I am worthy, fucker’. Shit. See you later. I have a bit more work to do tonight.” 

Alastor bowed low at the waist and dipped his head towards his friend. He reached in his pocket, looking for his monogrammed cigarette case, only to remember that he hadn’t had it on him the other day, and that it most likely was at his house when Angel came through it. That meant it was either stolen or torn in pieces. His hackles raised at the thought. Alastor needed to go through all his things and catalogue all that happened, knowing that Niffty must’ve already begun the process the night prior. He was lost in his thoughts and plans when Alastor left through the back of the studio that he barely registered the body lounging in the backstreet behind the radio station that he was taken aback at the sly smirk. 

“Miss me, Smiles?”

“Definitely not.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erbert is a inside joke for me because I'm banned from a chain restaurant under the same name. Everyone enjoy the next chapter! A little shorter, but I think it is kind of fun. As always, I love the comments and kudos and hope everyone is showing themselves kindness and love!

Grey smoke plumed around Angel’s face as Alastor took in his features. It was much easier to make out his face in the midafternoon light than a dingy alleyway. His face was soft, young. Freckles dotted his plush cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose. Alastor cocked a brow, taking in his attire. Large legged pinstripe slacks cut and rolled so they fell to his upper thigh, black thigh highs and garter, a white button up stubbornly left unbuttoned and tied up above his navel. His slender frame dwarfed by a familiar red suit coat. One Alastor missed the night prior. A silver cigarette case glinted in the sun that hung low on the horizon line. 

Alastor’s grin widened, taking in the image of his things in Angel’s hand. Angel leaned against the brick wall. He took his time to smoke the remains of the cigarette. One hand wrapped around his middle. The other pitched high in the air. His distinctive crimson painted lips curled around the cigarette. 

“Ya like to smoke the good shit, huh, Smiles.” Angel stamped out the end of the cigarette under his heeled boot. “Lucky me.” 

“What can I do for you, Angel, dear?”

Angel twirled the silver cigarette case in his hand. “A. E. L. What’s the E stand for?”

“I thought that a true stalker would be able to figure it out.” Alastor stalked up to the effeminate man, holding out a hand for the case. 

“I’m thinkin’ it’s somethin’ along the lines of Edgar or maybe Erbert. That would be fuckin’ hilarious.”

“That is privileged information. Not something that a hoodlum and thief deserves to know. My jacket and the case, please.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Angel ducked away from Alastor, dipping his hands along his hips. He twirled on his heel. He shot Alastor a sly grin as he took off down the street behind the broadcasting station. Alastor reluctantly followed him through the maze of winding New Orleans streets. Angel’s quick reflexes and deft actions led him through the city. Always able to keep one step ahead of Alastor’s sinister grin and reaching hands. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon line and bathed the area in night, Alastor grabbed Angel’s wrist, pulling him around to face him. He seethed with fury. His smile and jaw tightened. Angel’s mismatched eyes stared up at him, widened with surprise. Mouth agape. Alastor’s grip fastened onto Angel’s forearm. An iron vice to keep Angel from slithering away into the night. 

“Give me back my things, now. I will not ask you again.” 

“Ooh, scary,” Angel purred. “Whatcha gonna do if I don’t?” 

Alastor twisted Angel’s arm behind his back, feeling the resistance of the muscles and ligaments in his shoulder and elbow. His fingers slipped beneath the collar of the crimson jacket, peeling it off his shoulders and free arm. Alastor released his grip and slipped the suit jacket off. 

“If ya wanted to strip me, all ya had to do was ask.” 

The insinuation in the comment startled Alastor, causing him to release Angel. Angel twirled out of his range. He pulled out a cigarette from the silver case, flicking the match head with his thumb nail, and lighting the stick, tucking it into the waistband of his shorts. Alastor narrowed his gaze. 

“Are you really going to keep this up? What is your plan, Angel, dear?”

Angel shrugged his slender shoulders, “Who’s to say I got one? What the fuck happened to your face, Smiles? Didya want to match with me? How sweet.” 

“A mistake.” He barely contained the growl in his tone. Alastor touched the adhesive bandage on his face.

“I did hear some pigs talkin’ about a whore being found all cut up in a motel not too far from here. To be honest with ya, I was fuckin’ surprised that you didn’t go lookin’ for me last night.” Angel sauntered up to him, swaying his hips like a god walked in his skin. He radiated confidence. Full control over each move of his body. He breathed a puff of smoke into Alastor’s face as he leaned up close. His face only inches away from Alastor’s. “I really wanted to get under your skin and ruffle your fuckin’ feathers. Maybe see that ya look like when you ain’t grinnin’.” 

Alastor grinned larger, stepping back from Angel. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Goosebumps prickled his skin. “Another privileged experience that you will not be privy to.” 

His hands tightened into fists behind his back. Angel was close enough to smell. He smelled like smoke and liquor and something heady, spicy like cinnamon and cloves. Angel’s lips curled up into a smirk, showing off his white teeth around the cigarette. His other hand rose, as if to touch Alastor’s face, but it hovered just over the skin. Alastor grabbed his wrist, keeping him from touching him. 

“I know. I know. Don’t touch the merchandise. Ain’t your fuckin’ thing, Smiles.” 

“Only the truly worthy have the pleasure of such an experience.” Alastor sneered, throwing his words back into Angel’s face. 

“And didn’t I already say I was fuckin’ worthy.” 

“Does not mean that I agree with the sentiment.” Alastor dropped his wrist. He leaned down, getting in Angel’s face as he did the same to him earlier, trying to intimidate him in a similar manner. “You will have to do better than that to change my opinion, my dear stalker.” 

Angel’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. Alastor couldn’t help as his gaze was pulled at the motion. His eyes refocused away from the plump lips to the scabbed over cut along the young man’s face. The brownish red line was a contrast to his pale skin. The yellowish light of the streetlight wallowed his skin, turning it to a less than pleasant shade to look at. He approached Angel, forcing him to back up into the brick wall. Alastor slammed a hand next to his head on the brick. The other ghosted on his waist. Not enough to touch, but enough for Angel to recognize its presence.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mista’ Leveau. Ya gonna end up regrettin’ it.” 

Alastor breathed out a chuckle, “I do not fear you, Angel, dear. So, what do you have in mind to change my mind? What is your next move?”

“My next move, ya say?” Angel darted under Alastor’s arm, flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette. “Who said I fuckin’ had one.” 

“Well, if you do not have anything in mind to entertain me, I say be on my way.” Alastor held up the silver case. The red suit coat folded over his other arm. “Because it looks like I have everything that I came here for.” 

Angel’s hands slapped to his waist, registering the fact that the cigarette case had slipped his possession. He scowled. The wall. The hand on his waist. Alastor’s eyes glowed with pride and cunning. Not with flirtation and desire. 

“Nice play, Smiles. But don’t ya want to find out where the rest of your shit went.” 

Alastor halted in his step, tilting his head back to watch his young adversary and plaything. He grinned. His sharp canines catch on the streetlight, shining menacingly. His excitement rolled over his skin, igniting his blood and nerve, and he knew that Angel and him were about to get along like a house on fire. Something about Angel was intriguing and fun. Much more entertaining than the mindless carnage the night prior. A game. A change. Another player on his game board. Another person to challenge and play with him. Alastor stripped out of his suit jacket, changing into his red one, throwing the other one at Angel. He slipped the cigarette case into the inside pocket. 

“Show me, Angel, darling. And it better be worth my time or you might end up regretting it. As you said. Take the jacket. What kind of gentlemen would I be if I left you out on the February night without anything to cover yourself?”

Angel tucked his arms into the too large sleeves, “I look better in red.” 

“Everyone does.” Alastor grabbed his jaw, running his thumb over the scab, picking at it with a nail until it bled. “Though, I think white or pink would suit you better.” 

Angel inhaled sharply. “Let’s get goin’ before I change my mind.” He shook his head free of Alastor’s loose grip and took off down the street.

Alastor felt Angel’s eyes on him as they walked. His hands clasped behind his back, making it a point not to react to the narrowed gaze pointed at him. Angel’s heels and Alastor steady breathing were accompanied by the shouts of drunkards, the squeal of car horns, the faded strings of jazz and swing as they approached Canal Street. 

“C’mon, this way.” Angel went to grab Alastor, but dropped his hands before he touched the radio host. Alastor watched it curiously. Most people touched others without any regard for what the other thought. Especially when it came to Alastor. Because of his recognizability and radio persona, many strangers would come up to him, asking for an autograph or a hand shake or even at times a hug, touching was a part of society. Alastor learned to deal with it. Even if his skin prickled at the thought. 

Angel led them to a small shop with iron bars over the glass windows. Cardboard and paper signs hung from the grates. But instead of going into the obvious pawn shop, one where Alastor was certain that he saw some of his glassware and silver, Angel led them to the alleyway beside it and down a set of wooden steps to the lower portion of the building. Angel knocked on the steel door. A plate slid back in the metal. Lively music spilled out of the slit on the door as two eyes peered at them, looking over Alastor before recognition crossed the gaze at Angel. 

“Oi, Angel Dust.” The door swung open. A burly man greeted them. He was barrel chested and heavyset, with a large red beard and long dreaded hair. His voice didn’t match the look of him. It was high and lilting. “Been a hot second since I’ve seen ya around. Come on in. Your friend can come too.” 

“Yeah. I’ve been fuckin’ busy with work and everythn’, but I had some free time, so thought I would stop by.” 

The bouncer laughed, “You have a good looking man on your arm like always. Even if he’s dressed a bit conservatively.” 

“I wouldn’t be fuckin’ Angel Dust if I didn’t.” Angel shot the bouncer and conspiratorial grin that Alastor didn’t like the looks of. He turned his gaze back to Alastor. He looked up at him with fluttering eyelashes and an even larger grin.

Alastor's heart jumped to his throat when he entered the establishment. Music blared from the loudspeakers around the club. A small stage was pressed into the far wall. A bar spread along the wall closest to the door. The place was packed to the brim with people, ranging from the effeminate men like Angel, to the large bellied men, to old men, some who looked slightly familiar to Alastor, to normal looking men like Alastor to the men dressed up like women in silk, lace, glitter, heavy makeup, and large wigs. One of the drag queens was on the stage, dancing to record playing over the speakers and singing along. The audience cheered along to the off pitched singer. They shouted sexually undertoned, or even overtioned remarks, along with praise and adoration for the performance. 

Angel sauntered over to the bar and swung himself into one of the stools. He ordered two drinks from the bartender, whose face was half covered in stark makeup, like a harlequin, and his apron wrapped around his muscled, shirtless waist. Alastor stalked up to Angel. He grabbed him by the elbow, making him face Alastor. 

“You like it, Smiles?” Angel grinned mercilessly up at him. 

About to reprimand him, Alastor quickly changed his mind. Not about to let Angel think he had won this round because he surprised Alastor by taking him to a queer club. 

“I will have to see. What are you drinking?” He eyed the two drinks served to Angel. Both a small glass of clear liquid. 

“How about a bet? Let’s see who can handle their booze better?”

“And what do we win? What are the rules to this little gamble?”

Angel smirked. “The rules are simple. Whoever can drink without puking. Shot for fuckin’ shot. If I win, I get to dress you up like one of those drag shows over there.And if you win I buy back everything I pawned at the shop above.” He slid one of the small glasses over to him. 

“Sounds fun. You have a deal, Angel, dear.” 

Alastor clinked his glass against Angel’s before downing it. The liquor bruins the back of his throat sharply. A warmth spread in his chest. He ordered the next round. The bartender was quick to give it to him, shooting Alastor a flirtatious grin with it. He ignored it as they both swallowed back the liquor. They went at it until Alastor felt his head grow fuzzy and the warmth in his chest spread to the rest of his body. His body felt both heavy and light at the same time as his vision swum. Eventually he pulled himself away from the bar. Alastor grabbed Angel and dragged him away with him. His fingers twined with Angel’s without thinking about it as he dragged the other behind him. Both of them stumbled along the crowd. A song he recognized played over the speakers. One of his favorites to play on his radio show. Alastor aimed for the stage, shrugging off his jacket, and hopping onto the raised, wooden floor. 

Angel watched him before his gaze dropped to his empty hands. Alastor grabbed the microphone on the empty stage. He cleared his throat and opened it to sing. Angel stared, open mouthed as his voice matched and crooned with the music. Alastor sang and danced across the stage. His steps were more assured than they had been as he walked to the stage. He rolled up his sleeves as he moved around the stage to the song. A couple of drag queens hopped up on the stage next to him, dancing and backing up his singing, but his voice was powerful enough that he really didn’t need it. However it was marvelous to watch. Alastor dipped and swung and moved across the stage like he owned it. He felt like he owned it. A pure entertainer at heart. 

As the song came to an end, Alastor stood in a final pose, commanding the stage and everyone who watched him. There was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted into applause. Angel was one of his loudest cheerers. Alastor swayed on his feet when he hopped off the stage. His vision spun sickeningly. His stomach toiled and twisted. Nausea roiled in his belly. Angel caught him under his arm out of instinct. 

“That was amazing! I never knew ya could fuckin’ sing like that, Smiles. It was fuckin’ awesome.”

“Bathroom.” Alastor pressed a fist to his mouth. “Now.” 

Angel half carried him to the restroom next to the stage, locking the door behind them as Alastor kneeled over the toilet, losing the contents of his stomach to the bowl. Alastor puked up the alcohol and the small contents of his stomach. It burned the back of his throat and tongue. He sat back on his heels, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth when his stomach had nothing left to give up. 

“Looks like I won.” Alastor looked up to see Angel smirking down at him. “You ready to pay up?”

“One moment, dear.” He turned forward as more of his stomach churned upwards and outwards. 

“C’mon, Smiles. Let’s get ya outta here. You’ll have to pay your end of the bet later. I ain’t forgetting what ya owe me. You ain’t getting off that fuckin’ easy.” 

Angel grabbed his under his arms and hauled him to his feet. However Alastor doesn’t remember much else, except for the sound of the streetcar bell, the click of his front door opening, the stench of bleach and the soft invitation of his sheets. He let unconsciousness pull him under and didn’t think twice about it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more lore about the world of 1930 New Orleans that I have in my head in this one. And more Cherry and Anthony bonding because I want him to have a FRIEND. Enjoy lovelies.

“Hey, Angie, get your ass up. You said that you’d come with me to meet this client for a job.” Cherry pounded on the door to his bedroom. “We’ve gotta get going soon. I don’t want to be late.” 

“Alright, Alright. I’m gettin’ up. Jesus, fuck.” 

Anthony pressed his face into his pillow. He tossed the comforter off his body. A groan rattled through his throat and chest when he heaved himself out of bed. Anthony stumbled out of his bedroom and into the bathroom that he shared with Cherry. He quickly brushed his teeth and a hand through his blond hair, trying it back into a ponytail at his nape. He tossed cold water in his face in an attempt to wake himself up. 

Last night had been his first night back in Valentino’s club after his week off, and Val didn’t let him forget it. He worked him set after set. Even set him up with high paying Johns that ordered his attention ahead of time. Anthony had no time in between, constantly worked left and right. His hips and ass ached when he moved along with the healing gash in his side. Anthony shook his head at one of the Johns asking if he should open the wound ot fuck it last night. He hoped that was a joke. A part of him knew that the John might have been serious. A disgusting thought. He pulled open the mirror, digging through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of aspirin which he washed down with the bottle of vodka they also kept in the compartment. The booze burned the back of his throat. A sour tinged aftertaste from the toothpaste followed. 

It had been days since he’d seen his favorite radio host. Let alone since he half dragged the prim and proper man to the queer club beneath the pawn shop. Anthony still couldn’t get his heavenly voice out of his. Alastor was a performer, that was true from his radio show, but listening to him sing live, was almost an out of body experience for Anthony. One he hoped he could hear again. It was a wonderful experience. Even if he was mostly drunk at the time, Alastor hit every note with showmanship and style. And Alastor owed him his end of the bet. A part of him wondered why Alastor didn’t create his own music for his radio show. He could make a wonderful talent. Better than some of the other jazz singers he’d heard play some of the local clubs. Anthony could still picture the radio host. Face flushed. Brown hair fell in his large brown eyes. The way he seemed at home on the stage with the drag queen backing him up. 

Anthony licked his dry lips, leaving the bathroom, deciding not to throw on a face of makeup and have Cherry threaten to kick his ass for making them even later. He missed Alastor’s expensive cigarettes as he lit one of his cheap ones, changing into a pair of white pants and a soft knitted, pink sweater. The smoke calmed the shake in his hands. A sedative to the hunger that rolled in his head and tore at the insides of his belly. His high had worn off hours ago with sleep, and Valentino refused to give him anymore or let any of the Johns share theirs as punishment for missing a week of work. It itched beneath his skin. Anthony picked at the skin of his nails, trying to keep his mind off the fact that he was sober. He eyed a liquor bottle, but shook his head. He knew that Cherry wouldn’t be happy if he came along smelling like a bar, so he didn’t down the rest of the rum bottle that sat on his night stand. 

He wrapped his arms around his slender waist and left his bedroom, slamming the door closed behind him. Cherry stood over the stove in the kitchen. Her strawberry blond hair tied up in a high ponytail, with half of it tied off into another ponytail. She swung her wide hips to the swing song that played on the radio. 

“Good to see you ain’t dead.” She grinned at him over her shoulder. “Hungry?”

“Fuckin’ starved.” Anthony hopped onto the counter next to the stove as Cherry dished up a plate of eggs for him. Half of them were over cooked and brown, while the other seemed edible. “Thank ya, sugar tits.” He said around a mouthful of the mess of scramble. 

“No problem, bitch. When we finish up we gotta get out of here. I don’t want to be late for this client meeting.” 

Anthony waved his fork in the air when he spoke, “I know. Who are we meetin’ anyways? Someone important?”

“You could say that. The job was recommended to me by one of Magne’s guys like usual. He said this job could get me closer to having a permanent place within one of the organizations. I’m so fucking close, Angie.” 

“That’s what he said.” He smirked with a mouthful of eggs, downing the rest of the plate before dropping it in the sink. Anthony ignored Cherry’s eyeroll. 

“He usually fucking does. When me or you are involved.” She knocked her hip against his as she placed her own plate beside his. He kept from hissing in pain at the contact. “How’s your side healing up? Still a bitch?”

“Nah. I barely notice it anymore. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Do ya really want to be tied up to one specific group. I thought ya liked working for fuckin’ everyone like the slut ya are.” 

“You know I’ve been thinking about it. It would mean some more stable income instead of being tossed around.” 

Anthony shrugged. “If that’s what ya want, babe.” 

Cherry smoothed down her oversized army green button up. She wore her fur jacket that Anthony had the habit of stealing. Instead, he slipped on a long grey wool coat that Cherry snagged from Alastor’s hall closet. One thing Anthony could say about the radio host for certainty was that he had some sense of style. Even if it was traditionally masculine. It was all nice items and Anthony couldn’t stand the idea of pawning off all of it. Especially when he could wear the pieces himself. He took in a deep breath, inhaling that signature scent of Alastor. Artificial sugar and strawberries. He never really thought about it, but it was a weird smell for Alastor in Anthony’s opinion. Anthony half expected the radio host to smell of blood and rot. Maybe that’s why he seemed to smell like the opposite of how he truly was; to keep suspicions off him. Anthony on the other hand, smelled like himself and his lifestyle. Usually drugs, sex, and booze. Maybe some of his cinnamon spice perfume if it managed to last through the demands of his night.

They walked out of their apartment in the French Quarter, heading down Bourbon, but didn’t end up going far. Instead, the duo ended up in front of a startling familiar location. Anthony swallowed hard as he followed Cherry into a speakeasy he’d been in once or twice. The inside dead compared to when he saw it when he followed Alastor inside. No patrons sat in the booths or at the bar. Only two people stood on the floor, except for the door guard that let them into the establishment. The Secret Garden seemed almost surreal without the dimmed lights and bright stage and live band and without him constantly watching a certain radio host. Cherry leaned against the bar, watching the pair of women argue on the stage. 

One of them was easy to recognize as Mimzy Benoit. Her plump hair glass figure and large boa easy to spot from a mile away. Especially with the memory of Alastor calling her repulsive in his head. Anthony stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep from laughing at the thought. He really hoped that Cherry hadn’t dragged him along to make a deal with the performer, but most likely it was going to be with the other woman. One he assumed to be Rosie. Anthony chewed on his lower lip as he took in the features of her. She was slender with nice hips and a slender waist. Her skin was dark and flawless beneath her large brimmed lace and flowered hat. She wore a long skirt cinched at her waist and ankles. A ruffled blouse tucked into the two rows of buttoned waistband. She carried a parasol in her one hand and looked ready to beat Mimzy to death with it. So, she was Alastor’s coconspirator and fellow killer. An uncomfortable feeling rose in his chest as he watched her. One too similar to jealousy to feel right within him. 

“Get out, Mims. I’ll deal with your temper tantrum later. I have business to attend to.” 

Mimzy stomped her foot like a petulant child, “But you have to do something. He won’t even look twice at me now.” 

“Deal with it yourself. Get out. I can’t deal with your bullshit right now.” Rosie stalked away, replacing her scowl with a beautiful smile as she approached the duo on the bar. “I’m sorry for the wait. You know how performers can be. Always have some sort of drama to get you pulled into. You must be Charity Anders. Rosaline Vivant.” 

Cherry clasped her outstretched hand, “You can call me Cherry. Everyone does. This is Angel. He helps me out occasionally.” 

“Then you can call me Rosie, if you’d like. Angel, you say?” Rosie quirked up a dark brow that disappeared beneath the brim of her hat. 

“Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet ya.” 

“Likewise. Come join me in my office.”

The duo followed Rosie through the empty speakeasy and into the large office in the back. Anthony swallowed hard as he remembered the last time he dealt with this office. Hopefully they wouldn’t end up the same fate as the last gent that entered through that solid oak door. Rosie took a seat behind her desk, gesturing for the pair to take a seat on the two chairs on the opposite side from her. She intertwined her fingers and held her head up on them. Anthony picked at his nails as they waited for Rosie to speak. 

“So, Cherry,” Rosie dark eyes looked her up and down with interest. “I heard that you are the go to demolitions expert in town these days. A little ironic of a name you have there Charity. It makes sense you might go by something different. If I’m correct, your street name is Cherry Bomb. Pretty straightforward and absolutely delicious.” She grinned. 

Her teeth glinted off the ceiling light in a familiar way. As Anthony watched, he couldn’t be sure if Rosie actually thought that Cherry was delicious, but with her proximity and relationship to Alastor there was the chance that she could be strange like him. But Cherry didn’t know that aspect about Alastor and he didn’t have enough to go off of to accuse Rosie of being of a similar persuasion. Anthony noticed the slight flush that tinted Cherry’s cheekbones, but didn’t comment.

“What’s the job?”

Rosie sat back in her chair, “Someone has decided to interrupt my alcohol supply by going to the police about it.”

“You want me to blow up or threaten the snitch or something?”

“Patience, darling, let me finish explaining. I don’t happen to know who has been going to the police and exposing my suppliers, but I do happen to have some eyes and ears inside of the police force, and I know that they are planning on raiding some warehouses of mine that hold both bootlegged liquor and guns in three days. What I need from you, Cherry Bomb, is to place a bomb in the basement of the police station and blow it up at five am on that day. I need you to distract them while I move the remaining amount of product out of the warehouse. I wish it didn’t come to this, but I don't have enough to clear them all out in three days without leaving a trace. And don’t worry about people getting caught in the crossfire, my contacts inside the station told me that will be the perfect time as it's the changing on the night shift to the day shift and there should be less officers in the building. Do you think you can do this for me?”

Anthony interrupted, “Ya want Cherry to blow up a fuckin’ police station? They will name her a fuckin’ terrorist if she does that!” 

“You won’t do it?” Rosie almost seemed to pout. 

“Don’t talk for me, Angie. Let me decide what I want to do.” 

“It’s not like you won’t be heavily compensated for doing this for me. You will be paid double your normal rate and won't be blacklisted from any more of the gang and mod work.” 

“Are you saying that if I don’t do this, you’ll blacklist me?”

Rosie held a hand to her chest, “Oh, I never said such a thing. But you should know that I am one of the biggest names in the New Orleans underground outside of Magne and the whoremonger Valentino.” 

Anthony looked away from her at the mention of Val. He had remembered once Valentino telling him that he wouldn’t be allowed in any of the speakeasies run by Rosie, not just her favorite, the Secret Garden. In Val’s words, ‘She doesn’t like our type of performances. Upstuck cunt.’  
Anthony looked at his feet. There were the three major organizations that ran out of New Orleans. Magne, who focused on white collar business and loan sharking and contract hits. Valentino, who focused on sex, whores, and human trafficking. And lastly, Rosie, who focused on booze, drugs, guns, and took in the black and brown gangsters that didn’t fit within the other ones. Val got his drugs from Rosie, she got her hits and deals through Magne, and Magne got his whores from Valentino. Each of the major three got something out of the other, even if they could barely stand each other ninety percent of the time. Cherry worked mostly through the traditional mobsters of Magne’s crowd, but she had been wanting to break into Rosie’s organization for months. It was finally her chance. Since Cherry wasn’t, technically, a part of any organization, she worked with each of them. It was how she ended up meeting Anthony, through a job with Valentino. 

“I’ll do it. But I’m getting paid triple as much as usual because I’ll have a target on my back for this. Also, I can’t do this job alone. I’m going to need some help if you want it done and Angie here is my backup. So, you can pay him my normal rate.” Anthony stared at Cherry about to tell her he would not be helping with idiotic job, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“Aren’t you an expensive little morsel?” Rosie tapped her fingers against the desktop. “At least you’re smart enough to recognize the bind I am in and your own worth. I like to see that in a woman. It always makes things more interesting. Do we have a deal, Miss Cherry Bomb?” 

Cherry stood, holding her hand out for the gangster to take. “Definitely. Three days. Five AM. I hope you expect to see the largest fireworks show outside of Mardi Gras.” 

“I can’t wait. Have a good day. You too, Angel.” 

Anthony didn’t appreciate how she said his name, almost like there was something that she knew that he didn’t. It sent goosebumps up and down his arms and a sinking pit in his stomach. Cherry pulled Anthony out of the seat by his wrist. As they exited the Secret Garden and out onto the small side street the entrance sat, Anthony pulled away from Cherry.

“Are ya fuckin’ crazy?” He spat out. “I can’t believe ya took that job. Ya a goddamn lunatic.” 

“C’mon, Angie. You can’t tell me that the difficulty doesn't get you a little bit excited.” Cherry chuckled. “When she said she needed me to blow up the fiucking police station, I almost couldn’t believe it. Jus the idea of pulling that off gets me fucking going. Like it feels like I’m jumping out of my skin at the idea. In a good way. And shit, man, I never knew Rosie was that hot. I’m excited to work with her more.” 

“Alright, I see where ya comin’ from.” Anthony felt himself getting more excited over the jump as he absorbed some of Cherry’s own giddiness. Or maybe it was the fact that he was sober. He needed something else to get high off of, and maybe Cherry’s brand of adrenaline rushes and life-threatening pursuits were the next high to chase. “Let’s fuckin’ do this. Tell me what crackhead plan you’ve come up with, sugar tits.” 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “This is why you’re my favorite guy to party with.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the longest chapter yet? It might just be. Now back to our favorite boys.

Heavy drum beats hammered in his chest and in his ears like a war drum, matching the rabid poundering of his heart rate. Anthony thrusted his hips to the sky, dragging his hands languidly down the dips of her waist, the curve of his hips, down the silk underwear and between his widened thighs. His body glistened under the strong lights in a mixture of sweat and golden body glitter. Music sang along to his song and he tried to pay attention to the movement of his body and the tune without thinking about the hands that grazed and groped at his body, placing bills in the lining of the very few articles of clothing he had on. In the far back, on a raised dais, Valentino lounged on a royal purple loveseat. Anthony couldn’t make him out from his spot on the stage, but he knew that the pimp was watching every swing and girate of his body. Another body occupied the rest of the loveseat. Sharp eyes watched Anthony, darting between Val and the dancer. 

As the song came to a close, Anthony focused on the final moves of the set, spreading his legs into the splits and pointing his heel strapped toes, throwing his hands over his head. More cash and coins hit the stage. Anthony quickly picked up the loose money and tucked it into every place on his body that he could. 

“Angel cakes, can you come up here for me?” Valentino called from his velvet and satin throne. “Now.” 

Anthony hopped off the stage, mingling in the crowd and letting himself get touched and felt up by whoever was interested as he made his way to the dais. He kept his hands relaxed as he walked, swinging his hips in the suggestive manner that was expected of him. His body grew heavy and exhausted as he approached Valentino, but he kept his sultry smirk on his face and bedroom eyes glazed over his features. There was no way he could risk setting off Valentino. He already angered him enough for the past few weeks. The aches and pains testified to that. 

“Hey, baby, whatcha need?” Anthony asked as he walked up the carpeted steps of the dais. 

“Take a seat, Angie.” Val patted his lap. 

The man to Valentino’s side scowled for a moment at the idea, scowled deeper actually. There weren’t many times when Anthony had seen Vox smiling, unless it was because Valentino actually gave him the attention he desired or to intimidate someone. Vox’s dark suit jacket hung open with the dress shirt half unbuttoned. A cigar hung from his narrow lips. Anthony took a seat on Valentino’s lap, swinging his legs over the side. Valentino’s hand ran up the side of Anthony’s bare leg, pulled at the bills stuck in the elastic and ties of his garter, and tucked them into the pockets of his floor length coat. 

“That was a wonderful show, Angel. I missed having you in the studio. Never as much fun when you’re not around. Always a good money maker too.” 

“Thank ya, Daddy Val.” 

Valentino grabbed his face and turned him around so that Anthony laid on his stomach on his lap. His hand ghosted up the side to the newly healed wound that Alastor had given him a little over a week ago. The skin was thin and easy to tear. Something Valentino found out quickly as he dug his nails into the new skin, causing it to bleed. Anthony bit back a scream of pain. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. How dare you fucking let someone damage my goods? You think that you could get away with letting someone fuck you up for free? Next time I want you to get the bastard to go through me and then he can carve you up however he pleases as long as he pays.” 

“I promise I didn’t mean to let it happen, Val. Ya know I wouldn’t let anyone do it if I could.” 

“Useless, whore.” Vox muttered on his breath. 

Valentino shot his friend a smirk, turning Anthony back on his back. “My useless whore, Voxxy, babe. Can I borrow your knife?”

“You don’t have one on you?”

“Thought you’d like the honors.” Valentino held out his hand to Vox, who placed a small swiss army knife into the awaiting palm.

“You know me well.”

Valentino pressed the point of the knife into Anthony’s chest, over the fast beating of his heart. It wasn’t anything like when Alastor held a knife to Anthony. There was only fear and pain as it tore into his skin. With Alastor, there was something else there. Something he couldn’t describe. He knew that Val and Vox got off on the pain and way that Anthony struggled and that they were happy to go after the easy target while Alastor was different. Still most likely got off on the sadistic attacks, but he didn’t take advantage. Alastor didn’t seem to want to hurt him when he wasn’t able to fight back. Even the wound to his side was mostly Anthony’s fault because he pressed his body harder into the warning strike, causing it to worsen more than originally intended. Anthony tried to think about anything other than the slow, stinging drawn out movements of the knife on his skin. When the knife pulled away from him, Anthony looked down to his bleeding chest. A small ‘V’ was carved underneath his collarbone and above where his heart sat inside his chest. 

Val shoved him off his lap. Anthony landed on all fours on the floor. “You can go now.” Valentino waved him off and turned his attention back to Vox. 

He pulled himself up off the soiled carpet, biting back the tears that stung at the back on his eyes and burned his throat as he thought about the mark on his chest. Anthony pressed a palm to his chest. Warm, red slickness came off on his fingers. He half stumbled in his six inch heels, half ran to the back of the studio where the dancers’ greenrooms and dressing spaces were. Once inside, he rifled through his drawers, pulling out gauze and tape and hydrogen peroxide. He knew it would sting like a bitch, but he needed to clean the ‘V’ on his chest before he could cover it. Anthony poured some of it out onto the wound, biting the inside of his cheek at the fire the erupted on his skin. He wiped down the blood and the excess before folding over a strip of gauze and taping it down against the muscle of his chest. 

Anthony collapsed onto the loveseat in his dressing room. Everything ached. His muscles burned and his joints cracked with every move he made. He pulled out dollar bills from his garter belt, panties, and lace brasserie. Angel pressed his palm to the scar at his waist, still sensitive and sore with fresh skin and the scarring from the stitches, and the other to the ‘V’ on his chest. He grabbed the bottle of strawberry liqueur and popped the cap, gulping down half of the syrupy alcohol. The liqueur almost smelled like Alastor. Artificial saccharine scent with a hint of strawberries. Angel held it to his chest, half begging for the next set to never come. 

He leaned back on the loveseat and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes glazed over with unshed tears. Anthony dug his nails into his palms. Anything to distract from the pain in his side and ceht and the fact that Valentino physically marked him. The action made him sick to his stomach. 

Once upon a time, Anthony had loved his job, when he showed up in New Orleans three years ago and found the queer burlesque and strip clubs. He had more choices on how he danced and when and with who, eventually gaining a substantial following. That following brought Valentino to his doorstep. And Anthony being young and foolish enough to fall for charm, money, and affection practically sold his soul to the whoremonger and mobster.

A knock came at the door, pulling him from his reminiscing. Anthony sat up, pressing the heels of his hand to his eyes, trying to keep from crying. 

“C’mon in, baby.”

Valentino came in through the half shut door. He leaned down, getting close in Anthony’s face. His breath smelled of booze and stale cigar smoke. Anthony swallowed hard, refusing to back away from him, even if every instinct in his body told him to get as far away as possible. His thumb caressed the apple of his cheek. Almost affectionate. Almost caring. 

He dropped a small jar, a quarter filled, of colorful tablets in Anthony’s lap. “For being such a good boy. A little gift of your favorites. I’m also giving you the rest of the night off. Don’t waste it.” 

Valentino removed himself from Anthony and left him alone in the dressing room. Val must be in a good mood because Vox visited the club and seemed to be in an amicable mood. Otherwise there would be no way Anthony would get the night off as it wasn’t even eleven. He popped the cork plunger in the top of the small jar and dumped out two of the small tablets. Anthony tossed them back, swallowing it back with the remaining strawberry liqueur. He eyed his heads of wigs, makeup, and the racks of clothes running from lingerie to his drag clothes. The PCP would hit soon, he knew, it was now or never to get going. 

He pulled himself off the loveseat, grabbing one of his firetruck red wigs, some of his most conservaive feminine clothes, a couple of makeup palettes that could go with most skin tones, and a pair of heels, stuffing them into a bag. Anthony changed out of his set clothes and into a soft pink, long chiffon skirt with slits up both of his thighs, a satin halter top, and the wool jacket he acquired from Alastor. It tended to keep him warmer on the cold winter nights than any of the other jackets he owned. Plus the fact that it hung barely above his ankles, hiding whatever he wore beneath it. He pinned back his hair, slipping a gold wig over his scalp. 

With a bottle of whisky and his pills underneath the clothes in the bag, Anthony left the club, making sure to avoid anywhere Val or Vox would be so that he didn’t risk making Valentino change his mind about giving him the night off. He watched as the streetcar rolled into the stop, half running to catch up with it, hopping on board as the doors closed. He dropped his change into the copper receptacle. The streetcar driver looked him up and down. Anthony shot him a soft flirty smile, playing up the feminine look. He took his seat in the back of the car. 

“Nice ass, sweetheart,” The bus driver drawled behind him. 

Anthony’s smile dropped. He had half the mind to pull up his skirt and show the conductor his cock beneath the chiffon, but he knew that it was better that the man think him a woman than a queer man. At least he was less likely to get the shit kicked out of him if everyone thought he was a woman. Sometimes he found himself blessing his soft face and slim, shorter frame. Sometimes it made life a little safer. Not much. He was just as likely to get raped or assaulted dressed like this, if not more, and once they found he was not a woman, they’d probably kill him. Straight men didn’t like having to question their sexuality and that happened to be one of Anthony’s specialities. 

The streetcar stopped in a familiar neighborhood. Anthony got off, ignoring the hungry look of the bus driver as he thanked him in a higher voice than his natural. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder. His heart rate slowed in his chest. His vision narrowed on the smallest house of the block. Euphoria and excitement bubbled beneath his skin as he walked up the steps to the front door and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. As he was about to knock a forth, the door opened. 

“Can you not see that it’s late. Who---” Alastor slipped his glasses over his nose and looked down on Anthony. Recognition sparked in his brown eyes after a moment. “Angel? Is that you?”

“Expectin’ someone else, Smiles?” He kept his voice higher, more feminine, to see how Alastor would react. “‘Cause that would break my heart.”

“On the contrary, my dear, I was not expecting anyone this late. It is almost eleven thirty.”

Anthony shouldered his way into Alastor’s house, “Good thing I stopped by. I can keep you from getting bored.” 

Alastor narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he shut the door behind Anthony, not locking it. Anthony spun on the tips of his toes, trying to take some of the weight of his ankles from the high heels he wore. The house looked very different than Anthony left it, or even saw it a few days ago. It looked like nothing had happened. Everything was back in its place and the trashed and torn up things looked like they had never been touched. He looked Alastor up and down. He wore a silk, dark red, so red that it looked almost black, pajama set beneath a plush bathrobe. His hair stuck up in odd angles like a crown on his head. 

“Why are you here? Did you come to pillage and vandalize my house again?” Alastor crossed his arms over his chest. His smile was taut. Almost exhausted looking. “And in my coat it seems.”

“Nope.” Anthony held up the bag that he brought with him. “Time to pay up on your end of the bet. And don’t ya worry. I’ve got everythin’ we need in here.” 

Alastor pushed his glasses into his hair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. First, I need a drink.”

“Perfect. It’ll give me time to get set up. Pour me one while you’re at it.”

He waved dismissively as he disappeared into the kitchen. Anthony headed to the living room, dropping the bad onto the ottoman. He pulled out the clothes and quickly brushed his fingers through the short wig, untangling the hairs. He set everything out as he waited for Alastor to return. It didn’t take long for the radio host to return with two glasses of scotch. He handed on to Anthony. 

“I thought ya might try to back outta this whole thing. Ya know, ya being such a prim and proper man.” 

“I never go back on my word. Even my drunk word. You can hold your liquor better than I expected.”

Anthony grinned up at him. Yes, he might have cheated and rigged the bet, as the gay bar they went to knew him and knew his game, filling his shot glass half the time with water so he was guaranteed to win, but he didn’t feel any guilt about it. It was worth it to be able to have Alastor lose and owe him. Maybe he should have made the bet a little more interesting. Like a hug or a kiss. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss Alastor. Anthony had kissed a lot of men and a few women, not really by choice, in his life, but he never thought he would get the chance with the radio host. Unless it was something like a bet. Maybe he could try the same trick out on him again. However, Anthony assumed that Alastor would pick up on it if they ever played again. 

“Such a gentleman.” Anthony purred, patting the spot next to him on the couch. “Take a seat Mista’ Leveau. It’s time to get ya all dolled up.”

He took a seat where directed. “I cannot possibly wait.” Alastor bit out through his tight lipped grin. Anthony took out a handful of brushes and a palette, about to touch his face, but his hand hovered just off the skin. Alastro grabbed his wrist and placed Anthony’s hand on his face roughly. “You can touch me, my dear stalker. I am not going to melt away from a touch or two. I might not be the biggest fan of others touching me, but I agreed to this, so let us get it over with.”

Anthony quickly looked away as Alastor stared him down. A warm flush stained the tips of his ears beneath the wig. “Ya know, I ain’t stalked ya in a hot second. So, I don’t think that nickname is gonna work much longer.” 

“Should I call you my dear ex-stalker, perhaps? Sadly, it does not have the same ring to it nor the same aberrant connotation.”

“Ya can call me whatever ya like, Smiles, I don’t care.” 

He tilted Alastor’s face as he worked to apply the makeup and a touch of glitter. His fingers occasionally brushed against the radio host’s skin. Even if Alastor consented to Anthony touching him, he didn’t want to push his luck or upset him. Anthony ran his fingers through Alastor’s hair. It was soft and thicker than he thought. He could almost lose himself in touching it. He imagined raking his nails against the scalp, seeing what, if any, reaction it would get out of Alastor, but he held himself back. Alastor sat, rodrim straight, barely moving, and half the time it seemed like he didn’t take in a full breath, as the makeup was dusted lightly on his face, until he seemed to relax minutely at the carding of his hair. Anthony almost missed it, but he trained himself on noticing other people’s body language, if to avoid people that were bent on hurting him or who he could fuck, so he made sure to pet the radio host a little more than necessary. He pinned the longer top pieces down and out of the way with bobby pins before turning back to the ottoman to grab the neon red wig. 

“Are you really going to put that on me?” 

“Drag is supposed to be fun, ya know. And I thought ya liked red.” Anthony gestured at Alastor’s pajamas with his free hand. “‘Cause it seems to be all ya fuckin’ wear.” 

Alastor grabbed the wig from Anthony’s hand and spun it around his closed fist. “I guess you are right. I could stand to see this as a little bit more fun. Some good entertainment.”

“That’s the spirit! Ya ready?”

“Yes, my dear.” Alastor placed the wig on his head haphazardly. 

Anthony laughed at the tilted, half backwards presentation. “How ‘bout ya just let me do this?”

“That sounds like a good plan. I do not know what I am doing.” 

“That’s alright, Smiles. That’s what I’m here for. I’m not just some pretty thing to look at.” He winked. 

“Very much so. Much more interesting than the fact that you are pleasant to look at.”

Anthony stopped his ministrations at readjusting the wig to stare at Alastor, open-mouthed and wideyed. “Didja just compliment me, Alastor?”

“I did. Is that a big deal?”

The blush flooded the apple of his cheeks and Anthony looked anywhere by Alastor’s face, but he could guess that the radio host was smirking at his reaction. Anthony stared at his hands, picking at the skin around his nails while he tried to collect his thoughts. He turned around to grab the clothes that he gathered for Alastor.

“And you used my actual name for once. Other than that ridiculous nickname.” 

“What?” Anthony looked over at Alastor over his shoulder. He was right to assume that the radio host would be smirking at him. His smirk lit up his face. “Don’t ya like it?”

“You could have been a little more creative, my dear.” 

“Aww, Smiles, I don’t like ya’d like me being creative. I could’ve called ya my strawberry pimp instead.” 

His smirk faltered for a moment, “You are correct. I like the one you chose better.” 

Anthony held up the clothes, “Time to get changed, Strawberry Pimp.” 

“Please do not start with that. You can go back to calling me ‘Smiles’, I guess. It’s better than that monstrosity of a name.” Alastor stood, taking the bundle of clothes and headed to the call powder room off the living room.

“If ya need any help getting them, or getting your clothes off, don’t be afraid to hollar.” 

“I would rather drop dead.” Alastor closedthe powder room’s pocket door behind him and clicked the lock into place. 

Anthony hopped off his seat on the ottoman and wandered over to the gramophone in the corner of the living room beside the empty fireplace. Along the wall and onto the bookshelf, sat boxes of records. Anthony pulled a couple off the shelves that he could reach and dug through them. He found an upbeat jazz track that he loved, lifted the needle on the gramophone, and slipped it into place as he turned it on. The song erupted from the speakers, lighting up a fire beneath his skin. It was a sultry, fast song. Anthony pulled out a couple more he liked as he waited for Alastor to get dressed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the bottom of his bag. He refilled his, and Alastor’s glass, knocking it back and pouring more in. Anthony spun on his high heels shoes and danced through the spacious living room, careful not to spill his booze. No matter how drunk or high he was, he learned how to move without wasting any of it. 

About fifteen minute passed, and multiple tracks played on the gramophone, a couple more glasses of whiskey drunk, when Anthony walked over to the powder room. He leaned an ear against the door, listening to the ruffling of cloth and the groan of annoyance that left Alastor’s lips. 

“I know you are out there, dear. It turns out, I do need your help with this garment. However,” Alastor unlocked the door, but didn’t open it. “I want you to say nothing, understand me?”

“Sure thing, Smiles, but can I ask what ya mea--” The words died on Anthony’s lips as the door opened and he caught sight of Alastor. 

If his breath hadn’t been taken away by the sight of the fishnet stockings that covered his legs and the long, pleated skirt that hung at his midcalf, the half laced corset, he would’ve been knocked speechless by the sight of Alastor’s bare back. It was covered in scars, all up his spine, ribs, shoulder blades, and shoulders. Small ones. Large ones. Ones needle thin. Others an inch thick. He noticed the scars that round around his biceps. As he looked closer, he could see the scars on his forearms and hands as well. Anthony swallowed hard, unable to believe he hadn’t noticed them before. Some of them were barely detected as they were only a shade or two lighter than his skin.

“Say anything and I kill you.” Alastor growled. 

“Say anythin’ ‘bout what? All I see is someone who ain’t knowshit ‘bout how to lace a corset up. For such a well read guy, I would think ya would’ve had this figured out. Not had to take one off a lady either, huh.” 

Anthony took his gaze away from the heavy, thick scars on Alastor’s back and turned it to the lacing. He untied the top and bottom pairs of laces, rethreading them through the holes so that they would meet at the radio host’s natural waist. 

“I have had no need to learn. Are you almost done?”

“Impatient, much, Smiles?” Anthony waved him off and stepped back, gathering the laces in both hands. “Alright, take a deep breath for me. We need to make sure ya can breathe naturally in it.” He tightened it as Alastor’s chest fully expanded, tying it off in a bow. “All done.” 

“Also, you never gave me a shirt to wear with this outfit.” 

Anthony looked down at his hands, picking at the dry skin around his nails, “I wasn’t originally plannin’ on havin’ ya wear one, so, I didn’t bring one, but I bet one of yours would work. Ya can tuck it into the skirt and put on one of your little bowties. It’ll still be very Strawberry Pimp-esq.” 

“I thought we decided to drop that nickname, Angel, dear.” 

“Nah, ya decided. Doesn’t mean I gotta fuckin’ agree.” 

Alastor pressed his finger under Anthony’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. Anthony’s heart leapt to this throat at the look Alastor gave him. It pierced him, holding him in place. 

He leaned in close and lowered his voice to whisper. “Thank you.” 

Alastor dropped his hand and ducked past Anthony. Anthony stared after him, trying to find the words in how fast his heart beat, like a thoroughbred running a race around the inside of his sternum, thundering hoofbeats of his heat rate in his ears. 

“For what?” Anthony called after him when he regained the function of his voice. 

“For showing me how to lace up a corset, of course.” He called from the staircase. 

Anthony collapsed into the armchair as the record came to an end. His heart continued to race in his chest. Enough so that he thought he might be having a heart attack. The palpitations didn’t stop as he continued to replay the interaction over and over. Alastor that close. Alastor touched him. Alastor close enough to pull in a kiss. Alastor’s sultry and deep voice. Too much Alastor. Anthony shook his head, trying to clear himself of the spiral and cycle of thoughts that played. His mind wandered back to Alastor’s scarred up body. He could recognize some of them as scratches and assumed that he could them from his late night activities as a cannibalistic serial killer, but he couldn’t believe that all of them came from his extracurricular activities. Some looked over a decade old, faded and sunk into the skin. But he also knew that there was no way he could keep his head and learn about them. Anthony had enough scars of his own to know that they were also personal. A sign of vulnerability. And Anthony also knew that Alastor wanted to be anything, but vulnerable, no matter how vulnerable he had been at one point. 

Alastor waved his hand in front of Anthony’s face, pulling him from his thoughts. “So what shoes would you like me to wear like this outfit?”

“Most of the time, I’d say a pair of heels, but I don’t like ya could fit into my shoes, but ya could try. I was surprised you fit into my clothes. Ya being a fuckin’ giant and all.” 

“I did assume that the skirt is meant to be longer.” Alastor tied the bowtie in place, tucking the rest of the shirt into the skirt. He slipped his fingers into a pair of balck leather gloves. Anthony rolled his eyes, but said nothing at the accessary. “Also, I am not a giant. I cannot help that you are short, my dear.” 

“Hey! I’m fuckin’ average.” Anthony pulled out the pair of heels he brought with him. They were a pair a John bought him at one point and were a couple sizes too big, like most of the clothes he had given to Alastor. They were nothing he bought for himself. “You’re lucky people like to buy me things and don’t know how sizing works, otherwise ya’d be fucked. And not in the fun way.” 

“And I rarely am in the ‘fun’ way either.” Alastor chuckled, eyeing the pair of heels. “Do I have to wear those?”

“C’mon, try them on, Smiles. It can’t hurt.” 

He took the shoes and slipped them onto his stocking covered feet, looping the long ballet style laces along his ankles and into two identical bows at the back of his ankles. They weren’t super high, but tall enough to make Alastor have to adjust when he stood. 

“Sadly, it seems that they fit. It looks like I am stuck wearing them.”

“I did a pretty fuckin’ good job, if I say so. Ya look spiffy and sexy, Smiles. Now onto the second part of tonight.” Anthony eyed the clock, noticing it was just after half past midnight. “We gotta show ya off.” 

“What did you say, Angel? I do not think I heard you right.” 

“Oh ya did.” Anthony purred. “I’m gonna show ya off all down Bourbon Street.”

“You cannot be serious.” 

“As a heart attack. Drag is meant to be shown off. And it wouldn’t be a good punishment for bein’ a lightweight if ya stayed in the house all night.” Anthony held out his hand for Alastor to take. “C’mon Smiles, don’t tell me ya pussyin’ out on me.”

Alastor’s grin sharpened as he took his hand, “I would never.” 

They left the small house, Alastor throwing on his red suit jacket over the outfit while Anthony bundled up in his long coat. Alastor said nothing about it nor tried to demand it off of him. Anthony pulled him down the street and into the streetcar that pulled into the stop. They climbed in. Alastor almost face planted on one of the steps because of the heels. Anthony wrapped an arm on bicep, keeping him upright. 

Anthony leaned in close, whispering in his ear as they took a seat, “Now, I can pass for a broad, but it’s harder for ya ‘cause you’re tall, so don’t talk much ‘till we get to the French Quarter. Trust me on this.” 

“Of course, my dear. However, if anyone tries to touch me, I will not hesitate to stop them by any means necessary or entertainingly.”

“I wouldn’t expect anythin’ less of ya, Smiles.” 

They sat in silence for the rest of the streetcar ride. It was empty except for the conductor. Anthony released a breath at that. He might not have thought through bringing Alastor out into the world in drag, as he was still a bit high from the PCP and more than a little tipsy. He caught himself staring at Alastor from the corner of his eye. Anthony was proud of the work he put into Alastor’s look. The red wig cut along his strong jaw in a short, bubbly bob, while his brown skin was accentuated by the gold and red and black makeup smeared onto his face. Along his eyes and the sharp cheekbones sparkled the subtle hint of glitter. It emphasized his natural beauty, while feminizing the masculine traits in a flattering, honest way. Anthony wished to touch his face again, to run his thumbs and forefingers along those cheeks and eyelids again, but he kept his hands folded in his lap. He pulled out the small bottle of pills that he swiped from his bag and poured out another colorful tablet onto his awaiting palm. He dry swallowed it, hoping it would kick in soon and help slow the rapid slamming of his heart against his breast bone. 

The streetcar pulled up along a familiar street in the French Quarter and Anthony pulled his attention away from the radio host and focused on getting out of the car. Alastor followed on his heels. The two made their way down the streets, keeping to the side of the street. It wasn’t packed as it was still a weeknight, but people still loitered outside of clubs and underground speakeasies. 

“Al? Fuck. Is that you, you bastard?” 

Alastor stopped in his step as if a record skipped in its track. His body became stiff as he turned on his heel. “Husker, my friend, what are you doing out so late?”

“Same thing as always, gettin’ hammered. Why the fuck are you dressed like that?”

Anthony came to stand next to Alastor, practically feeling the tense energy radiating off the radio host. He was about to say something when Alastor spoke before he could formulate the words. 

“I lost a bet to this man. However,” He grinned and turned on his heel, bowing low at his waist to the man. “I think I make it work.”

“Weird son of a bitch. Have a good fucking time, I guess. Just don’t be late for work tomorrow.” The man, Husker, ran a hand through his dark hair. He looked Anthony up and down, but not in a lustful way, more in a curious way. 

“How about you focus more on not being hungover at work, Husker?” 

“Fuck off and die, Al.” He threw up his middle finger before jamming his fists into his pants pocket and stalking off into the night.

As the man left, Anthony looked up at Alastor, “Who was that?”

“James Husk. An old friend of mine. He is also the one in charge of production for my radio show.” 

“Ya call that a friend?”

Alastor chuckled, “He might be a little rough around the edges, but he is a good man, really.” 

“A little rough? More like it seems he hates ya.”

“He just might.” 

Alastor held out his arm for Anthony to take. He slipped his arm into the radio’s hosts, feeling the warmth that radiated off him. The pair took off down the street and back to the pawn shop and the gay bar beneath it. Alastor was careful in his heels as he descended the stairs into the underground establishment. They were let in easily. Anthony made conversation with the same bouncer as before and headed over to the after Alastor. As he arrived, Alastor already ordered them a round of drinks. 

“It might not be those endless shots as last time, as I want to be able to not make an utter fool of myself like last time, but a little cannot hurt. Too bad.” 

They downed the drinks and chatted, listening to the music that played off the loudspeakers hooked up to the gramophone. Anthony found himself leaning towards Alastor as his body grew heavy and tired. Time seemed to move in and out and warp around them, until Anthony had no idea how long had passed. He cursed as he looked down at his finger. The tip was burned from cigarette burned out that he forget that he even lit. The PCP plus the booze made his head spin, his body feeling exhausted and like it was weighed down, but at the same time it felt like he could climb on the bar. During a particular song, he pulled himself on top of the bar, swinging his hips in a reminiscent style to his strip shows at Valentino’s club. Or at least that’s how it felt. Until he stumbled and twisted his ankle in the heels, tumbling off the edge of the bar. He expected to crack his head open on the cement floor or feel the breath be knocked out of him. Instead, he found warm arms wrapped around his shoulders and pressed under his knees. Anthony melted into the strong arms that held him.

Brown eyes gazed down at him, concerned. Anthony reached up and stroked the soft jaw. “I guess I can’t help from fallin’ for ya, Smiles.” 

Alastor tensed at the touch, but didn’t stop him. Anthony dropped his hand, letting his eyes flutter closed. His head lolled to the side as his consciousness left him and he gave into the pull of the booze and the angel dust, dreaming of strong hands over his skin, glitter dusted brown skin, and the smell of strawberry sugar.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone please enjoy this shorter chapter! We're about to get to some more drama and action soon don't worry! Again, I love all the kudos and comments and feel free to leave any theories or ideas in the comments because I absolutely adore them.

Anthony stirred slowly as the sun hit his eyes, waking him against his better judgement. He stretched out. The air popped from his joints as he let out a high pitched groan. He opened his eyes, spotting the navy blue sheets, instead of his cream colored ones, and the hand knitted quilt draped over him along with a thin comforter. Anthony sat up sharply. His head spun and vision spun at the change of position. Nausea rose in his throat, burning the back of it with hot bile. He looked around the room with a sense of suspicion and caution until he recognized it as Alastor’s guest room. On the nightstand beside the bed sat his heels, the clothes Alastor borrowed the night before, folded and washed by the looks of it, and a set of pants and a dress shirt, along with the wig he wore and the one that had been on Anthony’s head. Anthony rolled his eyes at the display. A part of him wanted to snuggle deeper into the soft sheets and the mismatched patches of the quilt, but he forced himself to toss the blankets off him. 

His body moved stiffly with pain exploding across his breast. He pulled the hem of his shirt up and exposed the bandage on his chest. It was a little stained with blood, but it didn’t seem to leak or fall off in his sleep. Anthony looked down at himself, half surprised to find himself fully dressed except for the shoes. But this was Alastor. The radio host was as much of a gentleman as always, even remembering to remove the painful high heels before tucking him into bed. Anthony’s face warmed at the thought of Alastor carrying him all the way from the French Quarter to the small suburban neighborhood he lived in, slipping the shows off his unconscious form, pulling the pins from his hair and slipping the wig off him, and folding him into the guest room’s bed. It seemed partially out of character. Anthony half expected for Alastor to leave him passed out in a gutter or on the side of the street. 

He tiptoed out of the bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom. Anthony closed the door quietly behind him before he raided the medicine cabinet, looking for a gauze and some tape and a bottle of aspirin for the pounding headache at his temples, and maybe some anti-nausea pills so he didn’t end up losing the contents of his stomach into the tempting toilet bowl. His stomach turned over at the thought, but he ignored it, choosing that puking would be worse. He hated vomiting. It was one of his least favorite experiences. Anthony found some gauze under the sink with a roll of white medical tape. Behind the mirror, he found some aspirin, but not the anti-nausea he hoped for. He winced as he pulled the old piece of bandaging off his chest and tossed it into the garbage bin beneath the sink. Anthony rubbed water into the wound, trying to clean some of the excess blood that stained his pale skin, ignoring the way it stung to pull at the damaged skin around the ‘V’. He redressed the cuts before readjusting the satin halter top. Anthony knew he should probably change into the more masculine clothes, and most days he wouldn’t hesitate to snag some of Alastor’s clothes, but as he looked himself in the mirror, it didn’t feel like him. He shook his head, clearing the thought, before returning to the guest room and quickly changing into the clothes Alastor left him. 

Anthony ran a hand through his free hair, letting it hang down, dancing across his shoulders. He ignored the heels as he slipped back out of the guest room and down the stairs to the living room. It was empty. Actually, every room he’d seen had been empty. No sight or sound of Alastor in the whole house. 

In the kitchen, on the table, Anthony spotted a small plate with a note placed beside it. Anthony ignored the food. As the thought of eating anything made his stomach roil and twist until it felt like he was going to puke. He picked up the monogrammed stationery, rolling his eyes at the scripted AEL at the top, and opened it to read. 

‘Dear Angel,

I hope you slept well. If you are curious where I am, I happen to be at work. Please do not stop by. I made myself breakfast and had some left over, so feel free to enjoy. I hope that you do feel better as you seemed to drink yourself into a stupor. Next time, I would prefer if you would not end up unconscious because it is not a good look to carry you home intoxicated like that. However, I guess it is only recompense for doing the same to you. I apologize for bringing you to my home, but as I do not know where you live, I thought this would be the best option. 

Salutations, 

Alastor Leveau.’

“Ya even write all proper, Smiles.” Anthony smiled down at the note before folding it back up and pocketing it. 

He eyed the plate. His stomach settled and growled at the thought of breakfast. He pulled the aluminium foil back from the plate and the soft scent of eggs and potatoes wafted up to meet him. Anthony grabbed the fork next to the palt and set down with a huff. 

“I guess it can’t hurt to eat somethin’, but Smiles, I swear, if ya put some of that people meat ya like in this, I’m gonna fuck ya up.”

Anthony dug through it, careful to pay attention that didn’t look like eggs, spinach, cheese, onions, or potatoes. It was delectable, utterly delicious and cooked to perfection. He scowled at how good a cook Alastor was, deciding it was unfair that he could be sexy, gentlemanly, fun, and an excellent cook. His mother would say that Alastor would make a wonderful husband one day. Anthony laughed at the idea. Alastor was more likely to end up dead young at the hands of the state for his crimes or die alone, like Anthony suspected he wanted. 

“Oh, Alastor, are you home or are you at your radio show?” A high pitched voice called from the foyer. “Husk called and told me about how he found you last night--” A small red head turned into the kitchen, stilling at the sight of Anthony. “And you are?”

“Angel.” Anthony said around a mouthful of fried potatoes. “And who the fuck are ya?”

“My name’s Niffty. Nice to meet you.” The red head, Niffty, ran up to him, grabbing his hand to shake. “Are you a friend of Al’s? You must be or why would you be in his house. Or are you planning on robbing the place? But then maybe you wouldn’t have some of Al’s home cooking, or maybe you stole his breakfast? But then why does everything look in place? And really, how unlucky would he be to be robbed twice within two weeks.” 

“Woah, slow down there, toots. Ya talkin’ a little fast for my hangover.” 

“Oh sorry. I thought I would stop by and see if Alastor was at work now or not. He should be, but after Husk told me that he was dressed up as a woman with this girl last night, who could say. Especially since Husk told me that the miss was very pretty. Not to mention the fact that Husk said that Alastor seemed to be enjoying himself and the girl.”

Anthony blushed at her comment. “Um, actually, Niffty, was it? I was that girl that was with him last night.” 

“But you’re a man! You couldn’t be that girl with him last night. Husk couldn’t have been that drunk. Scratch that. Maybe he was.” 

“I was also dressed up as a girl. Just like Al. He wouldn’t be the first to get it mixed up.” Anthony finished the rest of the plate, but before he could move to place it in the sink, Niffty grabbed it away from him and ran to the kitchen sink. 

She scrubbed it down with soap and water before drying it off with a towel and putting it away into a cabinet. She seemed to know where everything in the kitchen went and looked at home. Her head of red hair almost reminded Anthony of the wig he had given Alastor the night previously. He had the faint recollection of meeting a gruff man with large sideburns that seemed more ready to fight Alastor than to be friendly with him. 

“So how do ya know Alastor?”

“We’ve been friends for a couple years now. Not as long as Husk or Charlie, or even Rosie, but he helped me out of a bad situation, so I owe him. Al even let me stay here in the guest room, of course, when I had nowhere else to live.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him.” 

“Yeah, he might be rough around the edges and a little antisocial at times, but he actually loves people. That’s why he has so many friends and people who adore him. Even if he acts like he doesn’t care, I know that he does. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t have done everything he has for me. It’s not like he gets anything else out of it. Alastor has never asked for compensation. I guess he did ask if I could help out at the rehabilitation center. But it was also for me. I got a paying job out of it and somewhere that’s a little more my own to live. Let alone that when I got there the place really needed a lady’s touch to spruce up the place which was strange because two women run it. And you must be his friend too. Otherwise he would have never let you stay t his house. He doesn’t particularly like strangers in his personal space.” 

“Ya seem to know a lot ‘bout him. I guess ya can call us friends, but ain’t ever talk about it or nothin’. Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Of course you can, but if I can answer it is another deal entirely.” Niffty’s gaze narrowed on him. “I won’t let anyone close to Alastor that is out to hurt him. None of his friends will.”

Anthony held up his hands in surrender. “It ain’t anythin’ like that. I guess I was wonderin’ what his middle name is.”

“Oh that’s an easy one. It’s Edward, but he despises it because it is the name of his father.” Her small hands jumped to her mouth to cover it. “Oh shit, I probably wasn’t supposed to share that tidbit.” She spoke through her covered mouth. 

“Don’t ya worry. I won’t mention it.” Anthony winked at her. “So, whatcha doin’ here? Ya should know that Al usually had his show around this time.”

“I wanted to make sure that he was doing alright as he was acting a bit out of character last night, but I guess it is just because he got a new friend. Also, I had some free time away from the center.”

“You’re a part of Charlie Magne’s little pet project? How’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Oh wonderfully. I have free range to clean and organize how I see fit. And Charlie and Vaggie are both super sweet to me. Of course, Vaggie isn’t a fan of when Alastor drops by, but she has stopped threatening to kick him out everytime she sees him.”

“Do ya think that their program actually works?”

Niffty tapped her chin in thought, “I think it could. It matters if the people that come to the clinic try to get better or not. There are a lot of people out there that need help, but you can’t force it on them, no matter how much Charlie tries to help everyone, it just won’t happen. And Alastor doesn’t think that it could ever work. An addict will always be an addict. A sinner always will be a sinner in his mind.”

“I see. Then why does he help out with the place?”

“He’s a good friend of Charlie’s. They’ve known each other the longest. I think since they were kids, but I can’t remember exactly when. And as he told me, ‘absolute boredom’. That tends to be the reasoning behind most of Alastor’s actions. Why are you asking me so much about him? Couldn’t you just ask Alastor? Want some tea?”

“Sure.” 

Niffty ran around the kitchen, pulling out a teapot and filled it with water before putting it on the stovetop. She grabbed a woven box filled to the brim and held it out for Anthony to pick one. He pointed at a random package. Niffty turned swiftly on her heel, bouncing around the kitchen. 

“He can be kinda intimidatin’ to talk to. And he hates personal questions. I guess I just wanna know more ‘bout ‘im. He acts all mysterious and shit, but I know he’s human like the rest of us. And ya ain’t that scary.” Anthony sighed into his hand that held up his face, propped against the top of the table.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about if you got Alastor dressed up like a woman in public and he didn’t kill you.” Niffty laughed it off like a joke, but there was a dark glint in her eyes. If Anthony didn’t know already about Alastor homicidal tendencies then he probably wouldn’t have noticed the subtext beneath her words. The tea kettle began to steam and scream as she turned off the stove before pouring the hot water into two mugs. One filled with a fruity herbal one for Anthony and the other a dark black for Niffty.

“I guess I’m pretty lucky like that.”

“So, how did you meet Alastor?” Niffty sat across the table from him, fiddling with her red bob. 

“Oh, I knew him from the radio show. Well, ya could say that I’m a fan of his show. I ran into ‘im one night, but I didn’t get the courage to actually talk to him for about a week or so, but he kinda reached out to me.” It wasn’t a lie. Just an omission of certain facts. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get to know ‘im better since then. ‘Course he doesn’t open up much, but he’s fun.”

“Do you fancy Al?”

Anthony practically choked on his tea, almost spitting it out at the comment. “Why do ya ask that?”

“You seem to want to only talk about him and you light up when you do. Also must people don’t try to learn this much about Al for no reason. So, since you don’t seem to want to hurt him, I thought that it would be the next guess.”

“Dontcha think it’s weird if I did? I’m a boy and so is he.”

“I don’t care about any of that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But if you do fancy Alastor, you should know that you have an uphill battle ahead of you. I’ve never seen Al take any interest in chasing skirts or pants. I’m more concerned that you seem a little on the young side.”

“Hey! Ya can’t say that. Ya don’t look much older than me!”

“I’m twenty six. I’m actually older than Alastor.” Niffty said over the rim of her teacup.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me. Ya don’t like a day over twenty one. Wait, how old is Al?”

“He’s twenty three. I’m surprised you didn’t know that. Let me guess. You look around nineteen or twenty.”

“Damn, you’re good. Yeah, I’m nineteen. But I know there’s worse age differences than that.” He huffed. “Al doesn’t tell me jack shit. I don’t know his birthday either.” 

“April first.”

He chucked. “I didn’t even ask ya for that one. You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. April fool’s day his is birthday?”

“Take it as a freebee.” She giggled. “And he hates it. Everyone thinks he’s joking when he mentions it. I like you. You seem like you might actually be good for Alastor. I just want Alastor to be happy.”

“Do ya fancy ‘im?” Anthony joked. 

“Oh no. I could never. He just deserves happiness like the rest of us. There’s actually someone else that happens to catch my fancy. I can’t really judge you for liking Al, even if he’s a bit older than you, because I like an older man as well.”

“Ya hypocrite.”

A small blush lined her features. “Nineteen is very different from twenty six.”

“Is it when ya blushin’ like a schoolgirl at the thought of ya man?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. 

“You can’t say anything to Al about it. He’ll figure out who it is way too quickly and I know he won’t approve.”

“My lips are sealed, Nif.” He ran his fingers against his pinched lips and twisted them at the corner of his mouth like a makeshift lock. He tossed the imagery key behind him. 

“Thanks.” Her blush deepened as her gaze drifted back down to her tea cup.

Anthony noticed the clock on the wall and jumped out of his seat. “I’m sorry to have to go so suddenly, toots, but I’ve got work and my boss’ll be pissed if I’m late.”

“It’s alright, Angel. I’ll tell Alastor you had to go to work.”

“Dontcha worry about it.” He grabbed the long coat that hung up near the door and bolted out onto the street. 

“Wait, isn’t that Alastor’s coa--” 

Anthony slammed the front door shut behind him, not wanting to give Niffty the chance to truly question it. Especially if she knew he’d been robbed before. Something about the hyper, petite woman made him not want to anger her. Maybe it's because she was friends with Alastor. Maybe it's the way her gaze turned malicious for the split second when she lowkey threatened him. He wouldn’t be surprised if Alastor surrounded himself with more like minded individuals than just Rosie, but there was also a cute innocence to her. Maybe that was the fact the she stood below five feet tall or maybe it was because she didn’t give off a threatening energy most of the time. Anthony tied the coat around his middle, slipping the heels onto his half frozen feet. The streetcar pulled into the stop and he hopped aboard. He groaned when he realized that he left everything that he brought with him the night before at Alastor’s house except for the wallet in his pocket and the small bottle of angel dust pills. Anthony only hoped that Alastor wouldn’t think he planned to leave the clothes in his home as an excuse to come back, but it turned out to be just that. And he wasn’t truly made about it. An excuse to see his favorite radio host. He smiled slightly at the thought.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I just couldn't seem to get it right or find the right way to write it. I'm still not sure exactly how I feel about it, but I do like how it eventually turned out. I still hope you all enjoy it! Love the kudos and comments!

Cherry threw back a shot of tequila. Anthony downed one of his own and another. Cherry tied her mass of hair into a knot on the top of her head. 

“You’re a bit crazy, ya know that, right?” Anthony muttered into her ear. 

“Only a bit? Angie, I thought you knew me better than that! You should know that I’m a lot crazy.”

“Especailly for takin’ this fuckin’ job and dragging me into it as well.”

“Hey, you’re getting paid for your work. So, stop bitchin’ about it. And you gotta admit, this is probably the most fun the two of us have gotten into lately. You’ve been spending all your free time with that damn radio host.” 

“Aww, ya jealous, babe?”

“You fuckin’ wish. More bored. I heard you got him to dress in drag and go to that gay club we like.”

“I have my powers of persuasion.” Anthony purred. 

“Offer to suck his dick for free?” Cherry chuckled. “I’d say that you get to fuck him, but he seems like a total top if you could get him into it.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Even his friend told me that he wouldn’t be interested.”

“Because he’s straight?”

“Nah, ‘cause like I mentioned, he ain’t into sex or romance it seems. Man, that was a fuckin’ downer to hear.”

“Wait,” Cherry slammed the shot glass down on the bar counter. “You met one of his friends?”

“Actually I think I’ve met most of them by now.” He began to count them off on his fingers. “There’s Charlie Magne which I ran into when I was stalkin’ ‘im, there’s that rude man that I met the other night when I got Al dressed up, though I can’t remember his fuckin’ name, then there’s Niffty. Oh, I can’t forget Rosie too.”

“Is he part of Rosie’s gang?”

“Nah. I think they’re just friends. Pretty good ones too.” 

Cherry punched him in the upper arm, “You meet the family too already?”

“No fuckin’ way. Maybe one day.” 

“Oh shit, Angie. You really do like him. And not in your normal let’s take our clothes off and fuck kind of way, but in the romantic type.” 

Anthony sighed before swallowing back another shot. “He’s hot and nice to me. Most of the time. That’s better than anythin’ I get anywhere else.”

“Does he know that you’re a whore?”

“He probably thinks I’m a slut, but no, he doesn’t know that I’m a prostitute. I don’t want him to know. It’s nice that he doesn’t judge me for it. And I can guaran-fuckin’-tee that he would. He’s a fuckin’ prude. If I tell ‘im I risk ‘im tellin’ me to fuck off or straight up ignoring me.” 

“Then you don’t need him.”

“But I want him!” He cried out before groaning. “Fuck. I’m too drunk for this. I might need to slow down if we are gonna go through with the plan.”

“We have to do it tonight. Rosie said she wanted them to go off in the morning, so we have to get in there tonight. And getting arrested drunk off our asses is more fun than going in fucking sober. Especially because we are going to be in there a while.” 

“I guess ya gotta point.” He intercepted one of her shots and downed it before she could stop him. “Thanks for the drink, suga’ tits.” 

“Cheapass hooker.” 

“Pot meet kettle. Follow me, bitch, I gotta us somethin’ fun.” Anthony pulled Cherry off the stool, stumbling along the crowds of drunk people to the restrooms in the far back. 

He slid open the door and tugged her in behind him. He checked that no one else loitered in the stalls before locking the door shut behind him. Anthony pulled a small jar out of his inner jacket lining that was filled halfway with white powder. Cherry eyed it with a manic grin on her face. 

A hammering knock came at the door, “Oi, you can’t just lock everyone out.” A drawl came from the other side. 

“We fuckin’ in here, so unless ya wanna watch, sit ya ass down and leave us the fuck alone.” Anthony called. 

“Fuckin’ whores.” The man grumbled before walking away with heavy steps. 

Cherry chuckled, “Can’t believe that worked. You look too fucking fruity for most to believe that shit.”

“Good thing he ain’t seen me then.” He knocked some of the white powder into the rim of the sink, partitioning it out into thin lines with the back of his key. 

“Angel Dust or Cocaine?” Cherry asked, but didn’t wait for an answer as she grabbed her hair to keep it out of the way and snorted up a line. 

Anthony followed suit. “Cocaine. I thought we’d need an upper after all the booze.” His head 

“I knew I liked your style.” She poured some out onto their house key and brought up to her nose, inhaling it sharply. “Woo! Love that shit.” 

“Ya wanna scram? It’s gettin’ late and we’ve got places to be and people to fuck over.” 

“I guess we can get outta here.” She slapped down some cash on the table, winking at the barkeep, and swung her legs off the stool.

Cherry slipped her fur coat back over her shoulders as she finished the last of her drink. Anthony was close behind her. He chose to leave the coat he snagged from Alastor’s place, not wanting the police to keep it, and wore, instead, a cheap leather jacket with many hidden pockets on the inside. Similar to Cherry’s fuzzy one. She slipped a small orb into his hand as they left the speakeasy. 

“It's a nitrostarch base, so the blast should be smaller than actual dynamite, but you’ve gotta get out of there before the blast goes off. Also, you need to make sure that it doesn’t get wet. It’s practically useless when introduced to water.” 

“No black powder?”

“I thought it was more of a go big or go home type of shit.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Even if I can’t get outta the way in time?”

“I know you’ll be able to. Otherwise you might lose your money maker.” Cherry chucked. “I think it’s time to piss off some pigs.”

“Ya named my third favorite hobby. After sex and getting drunk or high.” 

Cherry threw her head back in a laugh, “Are you sure you don’t want to reverse those last ones, Angie?”

He punched her lightly in the arm, but didn’t deign her with a response. Instead, Anthony hooked his arm with her own and turned her towards the police station. He knew that they would get better luck finding pigs the closer they got to the station, even if the French Quarter was drowning in them, they were the ones that were paid off by gangs and wouldn’t arrest them. Unless they really fucked shit up. His head began to clear with the high of the cocaine. It felt like his skin was covered in static, energy bubbled beneath his skin. His heart race picked up speed in his chest and he could’ve sworn he felt it move lightning fast beneath his skin. Anthony was wired, high of his ass, and ready to start some shit that would end up within a prison cell within the hour. 

Anthony squinted as he lifted his head from the metal bench he rested in on. The lights were too bright, the bench too stiff against his back. His head swum as he clenched his eyes shut against the lights. Anthony pressed the heels of his hands into his eyelid. He stretched out his legs, pointing his toes and cracking the ankles. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked around him. The cell bars stared back at him along with a large black man, a stick thin man when he smiled showed that he missed most of his teeth, and a man with dark hair and large sideburns that had a face that Anthony tried desperately to place. Anthony tried to think about what he had done to end up behind bars, but he couldn’t remember anything other than taking off with Cherry to go find some cops. He patted himself down, filling the small bump in the inner lining of his jacket that indicated that he hadn’t been searched thoroughly enough from them to take the homemade explosive off him.

“Goddamn it.” He groaned. 

“Looks like the tweaker is awake.” 

Anthony flicked the dark haired man off, “I ain’t no tweaker. Fuck off.”

“Go fuck yourself.” 

He leaned on his elbows, resting his chin on his laced fingers. “Only if you watch.” 

“God, we have a faggot in here with us. Man, this isn’t my night.” The string bean of a man muttered. 

“He won’t try anything, ‘cause I won’t let him close enough.” The last man said. “Don’t need no queer near me.” 

“Aw, ya guy ain’t any fun. I’m just fuckin’ with ya anyways. What time is it anyways?” Anthony only hoped that it wasn’t too late. 

The large man and the toothless one didn’t even look at him, let alone respond, but the first man to speak spoke up, “Just after two. What, you got a hot date or something?”

“That mean ya askin’ me out, suga’?” 

“Shut up, fag, before I punch your teeth in and rip off your molesting dick.” The large man said.

Anthony crossed his arms and said nothing, taking in his surroundings. The man shifted and took a seat on the same bench as Anthony. He ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Hey, Jim, I wouldn’t sit that close to him. If I didn’t already know your drunk ass liked skirts, I might think you were a fag too. Don’t catch it from him.” 

“Shut your fucking trap. I don’t want to hear anymore of your fucking bullshit. You’re too loud and annoying.” 

Anthony leaned away from the man, Jim, even though the name didn’t seem right. He couldn’t place it. He was certain the man wasn’t a John, but he knew he had seen his face somewhere. Anthony watched him, trying to figure it out. 

“Stop your fucking staring, kid. If you have something you want to say to me, spit it out. I don’t got time for any bullshit, especially from a brat like you.”

“So, your name is Jim, that don’t seem right.” 

Jim gave him a sideways glance, “That’s because most people don’t call me that.”

“Stop talking to it, Jim. Who knows what he’ll do next.”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck off? I meant it. Your voice is grating and annoying.”

The skinny one flipped him off, “What? Waiting for that fancy radio man to come bail you out again? Or will it be that little lady that came last time, Jimmy?”

Jim grunted, but he said nothing, closing his eyes and tipping the brim of his panama hat low over his eyes. He tapped an absentminded hand against his bicep. Anthony watched, trying to put the pieces of the conversation together in his head as his scattered mind, coming down from the high and sobering up, clicked it all into place. 

“You’re Al’s friend!” Anthony pointed. “The mean and grumpy one. Husk. That’s what he called ya.” 

“I’m not his friend.” Jim-Husk-muttered. 

Anthony sighed and sat back in his seat. “If ya say so.”

The cell was quiet after that. Until an officer came to the door of the cell and banged his nightstick against the metal bars to gain everyone’s attention. He pointed it at Anthony, gesturing with it from Anthony to approach the bars. 

“You want your phone call now that you’re conscious?”

“Yeah. I would.” 

Anthony looked at his feet. He had no idea who he could call, but he knew he had to get out of cell so that when the timer on the small bomb went off, he wouldn’t be caught in the blast. He couldn’t call Valentino, even though the pimp had the money, because he would leave him there for being an idiot and getting arrested or because he was working for another gang leader. He couldn’t call Cherry because she was in here with him. That left only one option. One he hadn’t truly thought through. And there was the chance that he would get a no. The officer led him to one of the payphones on the jail wall and slipped in a coin. 

A tired sounding operator greeted him, “Who can I connect you with?”

Anthony took a deep breath, “Alastor Leveau.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter to make up for the last two the have been pretty short. I hope everyone enjoys! Love all the comments and kudos as always. I finished this pretty early in the morning, so if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes please let me know.

Rosie leaned back in her seat across from Alastor. She swirled her glass of red wine around in the large glass. Alastor watched her, paying especially attention to every move that she made. He cut a slice into the steak in front of him. Red and bloody. He cooked it in a demi glaze with a side of root vegetable gratin and a salad, serving it with one his favorite wines. When Rosie had asked for them to have dinner, and to make some of Alastor’s reserves, he was surprised. It wasn’t uncommon, but he knew that she was busy with both the speakeasy and the illegal enterprises that she ran. 

“I hope it is to your liking, my dear.” 

Rosie grinned at him, “Why, it’s magnificent as always. You always know how to work the beautiful veal-like taste of human so well. It wasn’t too stringy or gamey either. Absolutely delectable. I remember when you had just started to learn how to cook human flesh. You always overworked it and made it tough, but you always knew which were the best cuts to keep.” 

“I appreciate the praise, but you seem to have something on your mind. Would you like to talk about it?” 

“I guess, I was hoping that this dinner would help keep my mind off my nerves. It did for a moment, I will say, but I can’t help the anxiety from coming back.”

Alastor took a sip of his wine. “What has you so stressed out, Rosie, dear? It is not like you to be in such a way.”

“It really isn’t, is it?” She sighed into the glass. “It really is no big deal. I have this police raid happening at some of my warehouses tomorrow and I have a plan to stop it, but I chose a joker instead of one of my usual men.”

“Why did you pick this wild card if it causes you such distress?”

“I was bored, Alastor. Like you. I was hoping to find something a little more exciting in this joker of mine.” A sinister grin spread along her face as she stared into the deep red of the wine. He could practically see the gears move in her head as her tongue darted across her lips. 

Alastor tilted his head to the side. “And have you?”

“I’ll still have to see. But I think so.” 

“Let me take a guess at what is going on.” He propped his elbows against the table and leaned in closer. “You are not really anxious about your warehouses, more to see if your gamble for your joker will pay off and you if you will be entertained or left bored. What will you do if you lose this gamble with yourself?”

“I’ll eat her. If she isn’t the successful wild card I want, I have no need for her. And she looked positively delicious.” 

“I feel the same. About my own joker.”

Rosie looked up. Her eyes gleamed and narrowed with an emotion he didnt’ recognize. “Ah, yes, your little angel. Still playing with that one, Alastor? What did I tell you about playing with your food?”

“Only if it is quality meat and to make sure that it is entertaining. Once it is not, that means that it has marinated enough to cook.” 

“So, you did listen to my lessons. That’s good to know.” She finished off her glass of wine and slid the glass across the table. “So, you still plan to play with him?”

“Yes, indeedy. I am greatly entertained by this one.”

“Still? I think this must be a record for you. Interesting. I might have to meet this little angel of yours sometime. I need to see what has you so enthralled in this little game of yours.” 

Alastor chuckled, “Do you want to throw your own wild card into the game and see how I will react? I would hate to disappoint, but I do not have an intention of killing him until I am thoroughly bored, but I do not see that happening anytime soon.” 

Rosie cocked a brow in his direction, “You don’t? You don’t want to kill him?”

“Oh, I never said that.” Alastor held up his hands. He thought about what she meant, about what it would truly mean to kill Angel. His stomach turned over at the thought, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. For some odd reason, the thought of killing Angel didn’t interest him unlike the idea of continuing to play their game, but he wasn’t ready to admit that outloud, especially to Rosie. “I only said I had no intention of killing him yet.” 

“I see.” She pursed her lips and for a moment, Alastor thought she saw through his lie, that he had no intention of killing Angel. “Would you be interested in joining me for a hunt tonight? It has been ages since we’ve gone out together and I want to pay you back for the wonderful meal, wine, and conversation.” 

“I would love to go on a hunt with you tonight. I think I even have the ideal target. I have been watching him for a little while now, he leaves outside of town in a cabin on the edge of deer hunting land by himself, so we would have all night to do whatever we wish without any interference.” 

“You would share your prey with me, Alastor? I feel blessed.” 

Alastor’s grin widened, “I always have fun when I hunt with you, my dear Rosie. You taught me well.” 

He gathered up the dishes from their dinner and placed them in the sink to wash later. Rosie gathered her purse and winter coat, waiting by the door for him to finish. She applied lipstick to herself in the mirror, puckering and smacking her lips as she adjusted her look. 

“Beautiful as always, my dear.” 

“Aw, don’t you start flirting with me now Alastor.”

“You know that I see you only as a friend. That is all I will ever see you as.” 

“I jest, Alastor. Take me to this hunter of yours. I hope that he puts up a good fight. It is always so boring when they don’t. Sometimes I want to work for my meat.” 

Alastor held the door open for her, “My thoughts exactly.” 

He followed her into the automobile, settling into the seat adjacent to her. Rosie turned over the engine and drove them further out of the city and into the forest and deer hunting grounds, but not far enough to or south enough to end up in the bayou. Alastor pulled out his cigarette case and lit one of the cigarettes inside of it. A small smirk curved against his cheeks as he thought about it, and Angel who stole it from him. 

“Now, what is that face?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Rosie, dear. This is my normal face.” He grinned at her. His elongated canines glinted in the passing streetlights. 

She chuckled, “And I’m a monkey’s mother.”

“You could never be a mother.” Alastor baked out a laugh. “You would eat your child the moment they annoyed you even the slightest.”

“Are you saying that you’d make a better parent than me?” Rosie followed Alastor’s direction to turn down a street that turned from pavement to gravel beneath the tires. 

“Well, I was raised by the best mother possible. I think I would have some idea on what to do right and wrong. Of course, the thought of having a child makes me sick. I would never.” 

Rosie pulled up to the edge of the forest, careful not to park her automobile in a ditch. She turned off the engine. Alastor hopped out of the automobile. Gravel and frost crunched beneath his heel as he rounded the vehicle to open the trunk. His breath steamed in front of his face as he breathed out. Two shotguns lay in the back of the automobile along with a small set of saws, knives, and scalpels, and a bundle of straw rope. 

“Aw, my darling Rosie, did you plan to take me hunting tonight? I should not be surprised. You always had a devious mind.” 

Rosie picked up one of the single shot, lever action shotguns, loading the bullet. “You know how this game works, Alastor. We each get one shot.”

“But to really have a fun game, we need to get him out in the open and into the woods.” He picked up the other shotgun and slipped the bullet into the back, slipping the safety into place. “Do you have your pistol with you? I think I have the perfect plan to get him out of his house.” 

“I’m not letting you take my revolver. But I think I know what you mean. I’ll make sure that your hunter gets the impression that he needs to run.”

They took off into the woods. Footsteps nonexistent as they moved in tandem with one another. Two predators who knew the exact move the other would make from experience, practice, and training. The same manic glee that came with the idea of the hunt and the kill glowed in their eyes. Alastor led them through the brambles and branches until they came upon a small cabin buried into the thicket, on the edge of Alastor’s favorite deer hunting grounds. He kept to the shadows of the trees, watching as Rosie approached the cabin. Her gun strapped to her back, half hidden behind her skirts and head. Alastor would have thought it a disadvantage to hunt in the long, heavy skirts that Rosie preferred, but it never stopped her from the efficient and effective kill. Grey smoke curled out of the chimney and into the full moon lit night sky. It cast heavy shadows on the ground and on the house. Rosie knocked on the door. Even with her back to Alastor, he knew that she could play the damsel in distress well and wore a doll like depression in her midnight black eyes and beautiful face. 

The door opened on rusty hinges. Alastor’s grin sharpened as he recognized the poacher as he crossed his arms over his chest. His hair was long and greasy, hanging down past his shoulders. It might have been best that Rosie approached him because Alastor wasn’t sure that he could have kept the disgust off his face. He couldn’t hear them as the wind picked up and whipped through his hair and across his eyes, tearing their voices away and into the night. Suddenly, almost faster than the eye could see, and he would have missed it if he did not anticipate it, the poacher’s eyes went wide with fear and twisted around the barrel of the revolvers as it shoved its way into his mouth and past his teeth. The poacher listened intently to whatever Rosie said, nodding fervorously around the gun barrel pressed against the hard palate of his mouth. Rosie pulled the gun out of his mouth and shoved him out of the cabin. She raised the revolver into the air, pressing the hammer back with her thumb, and fired it into the night sky. 

“Run piggy run.” Alastor chuckled darkly. He sauntered up to Rosie as the man sprinted off and away from the cabin, but in his panic driven state, he chose the direction away from the main roads and other houses. “Pitiful.” He said. 

“Are we shooting to kill or to maim?”

“What do you think, my dear? Which would you prefer?”

“Maim. I want to catch him and string him up. Bleed him like he does the animals he hunts. However, make sure that he can’t get away. The first person to land their shot wins. Does that sound agreeable?”

He raised the barrel of his shotgun, aiming at the retreating back, “Sounds marvelous. It is a deal.” 

“May the best serial killer win.” 

“Oh I plan to.” Alastor turned on his heel and bowed deeply at the waist. “See you soon, Rosie, darling.” 

His footsteps ghosted over the ground as he stalked after the poacher. Careful to avoid any branches and roots that could trip him up. His prey wasn’t as cognizant of his own steps. Broken tree limbs, trampled bushes, footsteps in the layer of frost. He was lucky that it was winter. At least it was harder to make out the steps without the mud trapping them. One shot. Alastor had to remember that he had to be smart about this. He crested a hill, watching as the man scrambled down it, trying to slip over the slick frost. Alastor rested the butt of the shotgun against his shoulder and took aim. However as the man weaved and tripped over his footing, he ended up rolling down to the foot of the hill. Alastor dropped the barrel of the gun and took off down the hill after him. The poacher regained his footing, taking off to the right, in the direction of the road. At least he was starting to think somewhat, but knowing Rosie, she anticipated this and would probably head him off, unlike Alastor who stalked from behind. 

Thinking about stalking, it made Alastor think about his own stalker. He wondered what Angel got up to when he wasn’t with Alastor. He realized as he stalked through the relatively quiet trees, that he didn’t know much about his stalker. He didn’t know his last name, or what he did for a living, or who was in his life, or where he got his entertaining accent from. Angel seemed to know a lot about him, but Alastor knew very little about the effeminate fellow. 

Before he could comprehend, a fist swung at the back of his head. Alastor barely avoided the rock clenched in the poacher’s hand as he turned away. As he found himself caught up thinking about Angel, he ended up forgetting about the purpose of his stroll through the woods, and it left him open for a split second. Alastor quickly dropped any thoughts of Angel, focusing all his attention on the man in front of him. He swung his gun in his hand, swinging it like a baseball bat. The butt slammed into the poacher’s jaw. The poacher grabbed the gun and twisted it out of Alastor’s grip, tossing it into the brown undergrowth. He took a run at Alastor and slammed him into a tree. Alastor grunted as his back hit the rough bark. The poacher tried to press his forearm into Alastor’s throat, but he held him back. Alastor shoved his knee into his groin. The man bit back a whine and threatened to double over. Alastor surged off the tree, pushing against the other man. He shoved his hand upwards and into the poacher’s adam’s apple. The man choked and staggered back. Alastor swiped his feet out from under him. The poacher fell heavily onto his back with a huff and a groan. He eyed the shotgun that had been thrown a couple feet away and reached out for it on the ground. Alastor stomped on his wrist. The bones threatened to crack and be crushed under his weight. 

He noticed when Rosie came up next to him and pressed the barrel of her shotgun to the poacher’s shin. She pulled the trigger. The loud bang of the shotgun rang in his ears along with the man’s cired of agony. Alastor pressed the toe of his other shoe into the large, splattered hole, filled with buckshot, reveling in the increased decibels and pitch the poacher gave him in response. Rosie picked up his abandoned shotgun and swung it over her shoulder. She pulled out the rope and leather roll filled with knives and a couple of saws from the bag on her hip. 

“You went back to the car. I wondered what took you so long.”

Rosie shrugged. “I thought it might be easier to grab them now and do what we wish with him out here instead of dragging him back to his home. It looks like I won.” She eyed him from the side, making a face he didn’t recognize. “I’m surprised that he got the drop on you back there.” 

“It will not happen again. I was distracted.” 

“What could have distracted you from the hunt? That isn’t very much like you Alastor.” 

He stepped off the poacher and grabbed the rope from her hand. “It does not matter now. We should get him strung up before he passes out from shock or the pain.” 

Alastor threw one end of the rope around a thick looking branch, grabbing both ends and jumping, letting his entire weight pull on the rope and branch. It held. He tied on end around the man’s ankles in a bowline knot. Alastor took a deep breath and heaved his end of the rope and the man upwards. The poacher screamed and flailed as his world tipped upside down and he was strung up to the tree. A string of curses exited his mouth. Alastor tied off his end of the rope around the trunk of the tree. 

“Isn’t that a wondrous sight to behold? Truly something a little more entertaining.” 

“I would agree.” Alastor reached up, slipping his fingers into the hole in the poacher’s calf. “What would you like to do to him now?” 

Rosie unrolled her knives and small hand saws, aiming from one of the bowie knives. She pressed the sharp edge of the blade against the man’s lips. He bit down on the tip of the knife, refusing to let it into his mouth.

“I thought I would take a page from your book. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“I would be honored, my dear. I know that you are a fan of the tongues, so you should be sure to cut that out if you are in low supply. But you rightfully won this hunt, so he is yours to do what you want with.”

“And if I was willing to share?” Rosie dropped the knife away from his face. 

“Then I think that we could have some devilishly good fun.” 

“You two are devils.” The man bit out. “No sane person would do this.”

Alastor grabbed the back of the poacher’s head, shoving his bloody fingers into his mouth and plying his teeth open. “I do not think we have ever claimed to be either of those things.” 

“This is too much entertainment to just stop.” 

Rosie slipped the blade of the knife into the open space Alastor created with his fingers. He slipped his fingers out but kept his head from swinging away as she carved into the back of his throat and tore the muscle of the fleshy tongue away from his mouth. Rosie brought the tongue up to her nose, inhaling the stench of blood and flesh. Her tongue darted out of her mouth to follow the length of foriegn tongue. 

“Is it to your liking, dear?” 

“Delicious.” She moaned. 

They took turns mutilating the poacher. Alastor carved a smile into his face, digging scalpels beneath fingernails and levering them until they snapped off, slicing through fat and tendons slowly and methodically, waiting from them to release and curl. Rosie trailed the knife along his bones and hip and into his pants, removing him of his masclunine organs. That pulled a loud and delectable scream from him before he passed out from the pain. After he lost consciousness, Rosie dragged a blade against his throat, slitting the major arteries so he bled out in mere moments after taking almost an hour or sadistic torture. She sliced a small rose into the space between the shoulder blades. Her signature on whatever people she killed and let have the possibility of being found. They walked back through the forest, arm in arm. Rosie tucked the tongue into Alastor’s handkerchief and into her bag as a token of the night. 

They finally returned back to the automobile. Alastor placed the shotguns and tools into the trunk, slamming it shut as Rosie started the engine. He slid into the seat next to her, blowing into his half frozen hands. Rosie pulled onto the gravel road and pointed the automobile towards his home. 

“Are you going to tell me what made you so distracted during the hunt? Or are you going to leave me curious?”

He grinned at her, “Leave you curious. I want to see what you come up with.” 

“Another game, Alastor? Still hungry for more?” She laughed. 

“You know I hate being bored. It is the absolute worst.” Alastor peeled off his bloody gloves before they could stiffen. “It is not important anyways.” 

“If you say so.” She hummed. Rosie seemed to accept her answer, but the way she rolled her eyes said otherwise. 

Rosie pulled up to the curb outside of Alastor’s house. He tucked his gloves into his pockets and bowed his head slightly in her direction as he stepped out of the automobile. She waved at him before taking off down the road. Alastor unlocked his front door and walked into his foyer. As he was in the middle of taking off his coat, the phone in his kitchen began to ring. A part of him thought to ignore it as it was rude to be calling just shy of three in the morning. He sighed, picking up the receiver and pressing it to the shell of his ear. 

“Who may I ask is calling me at this time of night?” 

“Hi to ya too, Smiles.” 

Alastor pushed his glasses into his hair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Angel. Why are you calling me?”

“Did I wake ya? Ya sound like a grumpy old man.” 

“That does not answer my question. What do you want?”

“Well, um, I need a favor from ya. It turns out I’m in jail--”

Alastor cut him off, “Good night, Angel.” 

“Wait, wait, Al. Please. Listen for a second. Don’t hang up.” Angel sighed on the other end of the call and waited for a moment to make sure Alastor was still on his side of the line. “It’s really important. I need ya to bail me outta here. I’ll pay ya back for it, but it turns out that you’re the only guy I know that I can ask. Ya friend is in here too and I think ya wanna pick him up too.” 

“Husk?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed. “Did he put you up to this? I told him I would not bail him out again since the last time I did he skipped out on his court date and I lost my money.” 

“I promise I won’t do that to ya. I really fuckin’ need this from ya, Smiles. So, can ya do it?”

“What would be in it for me?” A small smile grew on Alastor’s face. 

“Anythin’ ya want. I just need ya to come get me in about two hours, at a quarter to five. Ya should get ya friend outta here too. I can’t explain everythin’ right now, but I will as soon as ya get me outta here.”

“I can do that.” 

“Ya mean it? Like actually mean it?”

“I would not say it if I did not mean it. I shall be there, against my better judgement, to pick you both up then. Tell Husk for me. You are lucky that you caught me in a charitable and amicable mood, Angel, dear.” 

“Ya the best, Al!” Alastor could hear the smile on his face. He could picture the dimples that Angel had when he truly smiled. “I gotta go. The pig is givin’ me stink eye. I’ll see ya in about two hours. Oh, and post bail for Anthony D’Angeli. Angel won’t work.” 

The line disconnected. 

Alastor found himself outside of the police station a bit earlier than Angel requested, but if was going to get them both out of there, it would take time. He entered the station, aiming for the front desk. A uniformed officer sat behind a wall of glass. He scribbled on paperwork. 

“Hello, officer. I am here--”

The police officer held up a hand to silence him before looking him over. Alastor had changed and dressed up on purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time that they had refused to help him at this police station, but it seemed that it would be able to accomplish what he came here to do. 

“What can I do for you?” The police officer grunted. 

“I am here to post bail for James Husk and Ang--Anthony D’Angeli.”

“And you are?”

“Alastor Leveau. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

The officer smirked. “I thought your voice sounded familiar. What are you doing here for a drunk and a whore? I feel like you’d be above all that. With your big radio show and all.”

“I happen to know them and they asked me for a favor. So, here I am.” 

“I feel bad for you, buddy. Those two are in here more than practically anyone else. Here’s the paperwork that you need to fill out.” The officer slid the papers through the slit in the bottom of the glass. 

Alastor filled it out and handed it back with the required money. The officer read it over quickly and placed the cash in white envelopes each with their names written sloppily on the front. He hopped off his chair and headed to the back of the station. Alastor stepped back from the desk, taking a seat in the waiting area. A couple moments later, Angel and Husk were being led to the front of the police station. Angel looked up, catching Alastor’s gaze and grinning broadly at him. He gave him a thumbs up as he skipped up to him. 

“Perfect timin’, Smiles.” Angel smiled up at him. 

“Thanks, Al. But you didn’t need to bail me out. I was actually surprised when the kid said you would.” 

“Well.” Alastor’s voice was biting as he turned his gaze to Husk. “I need my producer to run my show. No matter how much I would prefer to watch you rot in the jail cell.” 

“Ya guys sure that you’re friends?” Angel piped up. 

“Yes. Very.” Alastor turned on his heel and headed out of the station. He squinted at the cresting, early dawn sunlight that filtered over the horizon. “Come along. I hope to sleep a few hours before my show, so we best get a move on.” 

Husk shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked off in the opposite direction. “Yeah yeah. Fuck. I’ll be there.” 

“You better, Husker. Otherwise I will make you severely regret it.” Alastor turned his gaze to Angel. “So, when were you going to tell me that your name is Anthony?”

“It’s no big deal, Smiles. Everyone ‘round here calls me Angel. Anthony’s just my legal name. I like Angel bet--”

Suddenly the ground rocked beneath them as glass and air air and heat exposed around them from the police station behind them. Alastor surged forward, trapping Angel against the side of an adjacent building. His back to the blast. He bit back a grimace as glass and fire slammed into his back. Alastor braced himself against the wall. His arms on encaged Angel’s head. His knees on either side of his thighs. Everything slowed and began to subside. Alastor looked down to see Angel beneath him. A soft blush tinted the curve of Angel’s cheeks as his mouth hung half open. Angel looked beautiful in that moment. Shock and awe splattered across his feminine features. 

“Alastor--”

Alastor pushed himself off the wall and straightened his jacket, dusting himself off like nothing happened. “So, I guess that is why you needed me to bail you at a certain time, to avoid the blast.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be that big. Fuckin’ Cherry. She went overboard again. At least Rosie should be happy with the result. She got the fuckin’ distraction that she wanted.” 

He chuckled. “Oh, she will be overjoyed when she hears about this.” 

“Hey, um, Smiles.” Angel reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his hem. “Thank you for--”

“Say nothing of it, Angel, dear. Now, I must be on my way home. Goodnight. Or should I say good morning.” 

He turned to head to the streetcar station that would take him without another word. He felt Angel’s eyes on his back. However he ignored them as made his way home. Alastor needed sleep before anything else. His head was in jumbles. His back ached from the splinters on glass and slight burns it took from the explosion. And a part of him, a small part that he adamantly squashed down, pointed out that he didn’t hate or even react when Angel reached out and touched him. But that was an issue for a less sleep deprived Alastor.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. It's a little more outside of my usual vibe, but I needed it to set the scene for what's going to go down next chapter. Buildup and all that jazz. As always, I love my readers and this community because everyone has been the sweetest. Your comments, theories, and kudos mean the world to me. ALSO, inflation is crazy weird not going to lie.

Anthony walked around the floor of the club, swaying his hips in the fishnet body suit he wore, nothing underneath but a pair of lace underwear and heels. He would have preferred to be out in the streets, enjoying the parades that have ramped up in the last few weeks as it was only a weekend before Mardi Gras Day. Instead, he had been working most nights, trying to get his mind off of a certain radio host that he hadn’t seen in two weeks. 

After the explosion of the police station, and Alastor walking off, Anthony went to his house to check on him, only to be blatantly ignored by him until he had enough and went home. Everytime Anthony tried to approach Alastor on the street, it seemed that the radio host didn’t notice, or that he continued to ignore his presence. So, he resorted back to his classic move: stalking Alastor. It seemed to be the only way he could get near Alastor, but it didn’t seem to matter. Anthony sidled up to the bar and ordered himself a martini to drown his sorrows. He hated to admit it, but he missed his radio host, and hearing him on the radio didn’t help to keep those thoughts away. The way his voice would croan and dip, or jump in excitement. It sent shivers down his spine. But instead of enjoying the holiday filled with parades, parties, half naked people, and so much illegal booze he could drown in it, he was wondering what he did wrong to send Alastor running. 

“How much would it take you to look up from that drink?” Travis, one of his regular Johns, interrupted Anthony’s self-inflicted melancholy. 

“For ya, schnookums, and the regular deal, fifteen.” 

“You’re a cheap hooker tonight, Angel.” Travis wrapped an arm around his waist and pointed him to the back of the club and to the champagne rooms in the back. “Normally you’d make me pay at least twenty to get you alone and in bed. 

Anthony wanted to recoil from the touch, but he also wanted to lean into it. To think of something else other than the damn smile that haunted his dreams and his waking hours. 

“Frequent client discount.” He pocketed the cash into the money pouch at his hip. He leaned up and kissed lightly on the pulse point at the crook of his jaw and ear. “Or maybe I just wanna have some fuckin’ fun.” 

Anthony found himself on his back almost as soon as the doors to the private room were closed behind him. A mouth slathered onto his own. A slimy tongue jammed down the back of his throat to the point of choking. He kissed back, melted into the touches that skirted up his sides and between his thighs. Anthony tried not to think of who was on top of him as he took off the onepiece jumpsuit, careful not to put any more holes into it. He straddled Travis’s lap, licking up the side of his neck and along his collar, grinding down on the hardness he found beneath him. Hands slipped beneath the band of his underwear and pulled them down past his ankles. It exposed him completely. Anthony found himself pushed onto his front, ass and hips in the air, and knees spread wide. A classic stance. He knew he had a nice ass and most Johns wanted to jump to their own gratification before anything. They got too excited and maybe, most of the time, he was glad for that. He wouldn’t need to entertain them with the idea that he was actually attracted to them for longer than necessary. As Anthony was stretched out, lubed, and entered, he knew that it wouldn’t be much longer until he could be done.

As he laid with his bare stomach against the leather loveseat, back arched and repeatedly thrusted into, his mind began to wander. Anthony wondered what it would feel like to not have sex with meaningless strangers because he was getting paid, or even if he could have sex again truly on his own terms. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed the attention and the sex and the way that one sway of his hips or one moaned word could get most men hard and begging to get their cocks sucked or fucked, but lately it had been hard to put the same ferver into it. 

Anthony’s traitorous mind continued to wander deeper. Until a familiar smile and beautiful brown skin graced his mental landscape. Until the hands on his hips became larger, softer, but still rough. Nails dug into the soft fat of his ass and pelvis. The hot breath panted against his ears became one that he wanted to hear. One that sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine and curled his toes at the thought. Alastor fucking him, deriving pleasure from him. Anthony could only dream. It was a delicious, arousing dream. To imagine those sharp canines against his throat, digging into the soft flesh of his ass. To imagine Alastor kissing along his spine as Anthony was filled by him. The mental image was enough to get him moaning for real, to throw his hips back to meet every thrust pushed into him. 

Until it all came crashing down. Travis stuttered in his thrusts, finding the apex of his pleasure and finishing. He slowly pulled out of Anthony and collapsed onto his behind on the couch with a sigh. Anthony sat back on his feet. He pulled the fishnet jumpsuit back on and shimmied back into his tight heels. Travis pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering on up to Anthony who graciously took it. Anthony breathed in the thick smoke as it burned the back of his throat. 

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind, Angel?” Travis breathed out a puff of grey smoke around yellow stained teeth. 

“Ain’t tryin’ to play at boyfriend now, are ya? ‘Cause if I remember right, ya got a pretty little doll of a wife back home. And it’s usually the hooker’s job to play shrink.”

He shrugged. “Thought I would offer. You seemed pretty distracted is all. Even though whatever you were thinking about still got you all excited.” Travis looked down to the hardness in Anthony’s lap. “Because I know it isn’t just me. I’m not that stupid. You’ve been distracted for weeks and not even pretending to be that interested in sex with any of your regulars.” 

“Yeah? Why ya say that? Ya still seem to get off just fine.” 

“Because I don’t fucking care what you’re thinking about when I’m inside that tight ass of yours. It isn’t a mental thing for me, but others are going to notice and you’re going to lose money and piss off that pimp of yours.”

“Why are ya pretendin’ to care?”

“I don’t want my favorite boytoy to go away anytime soon. And I like you, kid. You’re one hell of a good fuck.” 

“Aw thank ya, suga’.” Anthony leaned against the back of the loveseat with a purr. A sexy smirk on his mouth. “I appreciate the thought.” 

Anthony pulled himself off of the loveseat and headed for the door to the champagne room when he calmed down. A part of him wanted to get himself riled up again at the same dirty thoughts, and finish what had been started, but he knew he had to get back out on the floor or otherwise Valentino would be riding his ass. And not in the fun way. He stomped the cigarette out under his heel. Anthony wandered his way through the club floor, flirting and dancing and grinding with those who paid him and those who were cute enough to get away with it. A few more drinks from the bartender. An extra hit of cocaine another dancer had on them. It almost felt like maybe his night wouldn’t turn as sour as he felt. 

A hand grabbed his bicep, almost making him lose his balance on his tall, narrow heels, but he caught himself against the weight. Valentino looked down at his nose at him from behind his rose colored glasses. A dark, lustful smirk hung off his lips. His tongue dipped across his lips and the gold canine that was prominent in his mouth. 

Valentino leaned down, breath caressing his ear. “I’ve been looking for you, Angelcakes. You’re almost done with your shift, right? How about we call it a night and you can come play with Daddy?” 

“Are ya sure, boss? I don’t wanna disappoint ya with how much I bring in.” Anthony stiffened, but refused to let it show. 

He schooled his features into vapid lasciviousness that he played into well. The floor threatened to tilt beneath him as his breath hitched. Invisible bands tightened themselves around his chest. The grip on his arm refused to release. Anthony was certain there would be fingerprints stained into his arm in black and purple and yellow in the morning. 

“Of course I’m sure. When aren’t I sure about what I want?” A hand snaked around Anthony’s waist and pulled him flush against Valentino's body. Hips slammed into hips. “And I want my Angel to come entertain me now. You wouldn’t say no to me, right, Angie, baby?”

“‘Course not, Daddy. I wouldn’t even think ‘bout doing somethin’ like that.” 

“Now that’s my good little whore.” Valentino released Anthony, sliding a hand to the small of his back, pressing him forward and to the set of stairs behind a set of heavy french doors. 

The guards on either side of the doors nodded to their boss, letting them through without question. Anthony tried not to think of the pistols on their hips or how naked he felt without one as he went into Valentino’s private section of the club. It’s where he did his other business and where his main office resided. There were other offices and a couple of bedrooms, like the one attached to the back of Valentino’s, but those were only used for emergencies. 

“Are ya and Vox doing good? He’s been hangin’ ‘round the club a lot. I’m surprised I didn’t see ‘im tonight.”

“We’re doing fine, but that’s not what I wanted you to do. I didn’t want you to be opening and closing your mouth.” Valentino hummed as he unlocked and pushed open the door to his office. The second the door shut behind him, hands pressed down on Anthony’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees. “Just keep it open.” 

Anthony opened his mouth on instinct, ready for the intrusion into his mouth and throat. He closed his eyes. The sound of the buckle coming loose and the scratch of the zipper sent a chill down his spine. Not one of pleasure or anticipation, but of understanding what was to come next. A hand pressed to the back of his head to hold it in place. A hard weight settled against his tongue and the back of his throat. Anthony tried not to think of who thrusted into his mouth or the way tears burned at the corners of his eyes or the choking sensation of the hardness shaved behind his teeth and down his throat. He moaned along with thrusts and Valentino’s panting breaths. A different mental image played against the back of his eyelids. One that made it more fun to go along with Valentino’s whims. The hand on the back of his head gripped his hair, shoving his head forward as Valentino found release into the back of his throat. Valentino stepped back. Anthony released him with a pop, swallowing hard. His mouth was coated with a salty aftertaste that he ignored as he stayed on his knees, waiting for when he would be given permission to stand. 

“Fuck, Angelcakes.” Valentino leaned against his desk and placed himself back in his pants. “You’re fuckin’ great at that as always.” 

“Anythin’ else I can do for ya, boss?” Anthony stood, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. 

“Not now. However you aren’t working tomorrow night. I’m taking you to a party that Vox is throwing for Mardi Gras. I already have your outfit picked out for it, so don’t worry.”

“You’re takin’ me out? Like a date? Even on a Friday?”

“Don’t get those stupid ass thoughts, Angel. Think of it more as a reward for being such a good boy. And I need a whore to show off my goods at the party and you’re top of the fucking line.” Valentino stalked up to Anthony, gripped his chin and made him look into those heart shaped frames. “Rosie and Magne are both going to be there too, so don’t fuck it up for me or Vox. If you do, I swear to fucking god, Angel. I will break every limb in your goddamn body until you're begging me to stop.”

“Gotcha, boss. Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

Valentino patted his cheek softly, “I know you will. Now get outta here. I don’t need you anymore. And remember to have all the bash you made ready for me Monday. I’ll see you for the party at seven. Don’t be even a second later or I’m taking a different hooker with me.” 

“Seven on the dot. I’ll be here, Val.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry it's been a hot minute since the last chapter, but I hope this makes up for it. It is a monstrosity of a long chapter. And just a warning to everyone, I just moved back into my dorm at uni, so everything is a bit hectic and I probably will be updating a little slower than I did on break, but don't worry, I love this story and all of you who read and comment on it. Thanks for the love and support!

He took a deep breath in front of his vanity, applying to rouge to his cheek bones and the kohl to his lashes and lids. A spritz of perfume along his pulse points, throat, and wrists. Anthony rubbed his wrists together absentmindedly. He pouted his lips, applying the soft nude gloss. His hair curled around his face, bunching up into slightly frizzy waves. He rolled nude stockings up his slender legs and ran his hands back down to align them to make sure there were no runs. The corset around his waist gave the illusion of an hourglass figure as he stood up to go try on the outfit Valentino got him for the party. Even if the style for most women’s clothes emphasized the boxy, androgynist look, Anthony always thought it made him look too masculine, so he went with the older style of the curved and defined waist. It was a plain white box with a silver ribbon wrapped around the middle to keep it closed. Anthony peeled away the bow and set it to the side. 

His breath escaped him as he stared down at the gown inside of the box. It fell to the floor in a cascade of emerald ruffles. It was modified to have sheer sleeves that cinched at the cuffs and shimmering beads stitched along the bodice in a spider web like pattern from his shoulder to the low waist. Slits ran up the front both of his legs to the mid thigh. Carefully concealed alings the ruffles unless he made it obvious. Hidden beneath the gown rested a colombina style half mask. It was gold with dark green beading that matched the spider web pattern of the dress and dangled off the mask to rest along his cheek bones. A pair of strappy gold heels also resided in the box. Anthony returned to his vanity, pulling out a small box of makeup that he applied over the gloss on his lips. The gold foil stuck to his lips until it coated in a luxurious sheen that made it look like his mouth was made of liquid cold. He applied some green to his eyelids to match the dress. 

Anthony slipped the dress on, reaching to the side to find the zipper to cinch it to his waist. He buttoned the cuffs and smoothed out the chiffon and silk. In front of his full length mirror in the dressing room, he gasped. Anthony stared at his reflection, spinning in the dress until it flared out around his ankles. He slipped on the heels, lacing them up his ankles and calves. As he sat up from the shoes, a sharp knock came at his door. 

“Come in. I’m decent.” 

Valentino shoved the door open, letting the music from the club floor flood into the dressing room. “Now when are you ever truly decent, Angie, baby? Fuck. I did a great job picking that dress out. I knew it would look good on you.”

“Thank ya, for it, boss. It’s beautiful.” Anthony grabbed the masquerade mask, slipping it under his arm. 

“I have good taste. You ready to go.” It was phrased like a question, but Angel knew to assume it was anything but a demand. 

Valentino wore a royal purple tuxedo with a matching top hat. His mask was a standard bauta mask, with a squarish shape and no mouth to the full face mask. A stark white shade that contrasted the dark purple suit. He slipped the mask off his face and tucked it into a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. Valentino held out his elbow for Anthony to take. He did so without question, finding his footing inthe tall heels. 

“I don’t want you taking that mask off at the party at all. No one needs to see your face. You can pass as a woman if no one sees your face. Also, let’s face it, we both know that your face isn’t the most fuckable thing about you, Angelcakes, so make sure to put the best part of the merchandise forward. Got it?” 

“Understood, boss.” 

“Good boy.” Valentino grabbed the mask and slipped it over Anthony’s face, tying it behind his head and beneath the curls. He slipped a golden shawl over his narrow shoulders. 

Anthony followed at his heels through the club floor until they approached the front door. Valentino popped open an umbrella and held it open for Anthony to fit underneath with him to keep out of the thunderstorm that erupted through the sky. Crisp, wet air hit his face as they made their way to an automobile idling on the street, chilling him in the thin dress and shawl. The driver hopped out of the front to open the door for his boss and Anthony. The car door slammed shut as Anthony settled into the seat. He stared out the window after the car lurched forward. He watched as the rain streamed down the fogged windows with his head resting on his palm. Purple and white lightning lit up the pitch sky, cutting through it with bursts of thunder that he felt ricochet in his chest. 

“So, boss, where’s this party?” Anthony asked after about a half hour of driving. 

“Near the bayou.” Valentino’s lips thinned around his cigarette. “Vox rented a mansion for the party. But you don’t have to worry about that, Angelcakes, just focus on mingling and looking pretty.”

“That’ll be easy. Those are two of my best skills.” 

“And that’s why I know I picked my best whore for this.” Valentino blew a cloud of grey smoke into his face. 

The automobile pulled to a stop along a semicircle driveway that led up to a large plantation style mansion. Large white greek style columns braced the facade of the mansion. Light spilled out of the large windows that faced the drive. Music rattled the windows in between the breaks in the thunder. Anthony put on a seductive smile as he climbed out of the car and grabbed onto Valentino’s offered elbow. A gust of hot air mixed with lively jazz hit his chest and face as the front door was opened by a woman without a mask in a maid’s outfit. She kept her head low to the ground, leading them through the foyer and into the grandiose, gilded ballroom. Anthony’s eyes widened in wonder as he took in the dozen of crystal chandeliers, the table pushed to the sides of the room, the large buffet spread adorned with a chef, and the large stock of booze behind the bar. 

“Woah, Vox went all out this year, huh.” 

Valentino slipped his arm free of Anthony’s, blatantly ignoring him as he caught sight of the host. Vox sauntered up to the pair. Arms spread wide in welcome. He wore a velvet dark green suit, so dark that it looked almost black except when it caught in the right light. Anthony held back a laugh at the mask pushed up from his face. It made him look like a jester with three large pieces of the mask that came out from his head and the tassels that dangled down his chin. 

“Welcome, Val, Angel, I'm glad you both could make it.” He pushed his mask back on his face and spun on his heel. “Come with me, Val, baby, let’s do some mingling before Magne gets here. You do whatever you want Angel. Stay out of trouble.” 

“‘Course, Voxxy, don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. Val already gave me the rundown.”

“Good. Now shoo. Val and I are going to get some drinks.” Vox wrapped an arm around Valentino’s shoulders and led them towards the bar. 

Anthony looked around the ballroom for any familiar face. Most of the men dress in classic black tuxedos and most of the women wore a combination of gold, purple, or green. Classic Mardi Gras colors. No one really stood out to him, but it didn’t stop him from admiring the classic gowns or some of the shorter flapper styles that were popular. Most kept the modern box cut and lowered waistlines like Anthony’s, but there were some with higher and cinched waists. 

“What are you looking for, Angel?” 

Anthony almost jumped out of his skin at the purring voice. He turned around to find Rosie standing behind his shoulder. She wore a deep eggplant colored dress in the older style. The high waist and the A-line cut fit her well. A large hat adorned the top of head, decked out in dried flowers. She wore a simple gold mask with filigree along the edges that hugged the most of her face and nose, leaving her mouth exposed. 

“God, fuck. Rosie. You startled me.” 

“Sorry about that. It wasn’t my intention. I thought that maybe you were looking for someone in particular.”

He shrugged. “Not really. I was looking for someone familiar that I could talk to. My date walked off.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. Valentino’s pet is bored without its master around to entertain it. I was a little bored myself, so I thought I would see what you are up to. My date is occupied at the moment.” 

“I’m surprised you brought a date to this shindig. That would be a first. And I’m not Va’s pet--” 

She waved him off. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, pet. He merely asked because he was obligated to go and didn’t want to end up alone and bored.”

“I guess that makes sense.” 

“How are you doing after the police station incident. I chatted a bit with Miss Cherry, and she mentioned that you were very helpful in the whole fiasco.”

“It went alright. I guess.”

She stared him down from the bridge of her gold mask covered mask. “Do you enjoy working as Valentino’s little whore? He’s mentioned you on more than one occasion. You seem to be his rising pet, Angel.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Aww, come on, share your problems with auntie Rosie, I promise they won’t get back to Alastor.” Her smirking grin said otherwise. Especially when she noticed the way his ears burned pink at the mention of the radio host.

“Ya can tell him whatever you want. I don’t fuckin’ care. It’s not like he’s talked to me in weeks.”

“A little lovers spat? Isn’t that precious.” Her grin softened. “Just so you know, I’ve kept your little secrets from him.” 

“And why wouldja do that?”

Rosie chuckled softly, “Because, Angel, or should I say Anthony, it is more entertaining to watch from the outside than play with the pieces on the board. Especially when Alastor doesn’t even realize I could play the game if I wanted to.”

“Isn’t he ya best friend? That doesn’t seem like somethin’ I’d want my friends doin’ to me.” 

“He’ll understand. I don’t think that Alastor would pass up the opportunity to play himself if he was in my position, but in all honesty, we have a slightly different taste when it comes to entertainment. He likes little feral pets that aren’t really his to play with and I like true wildcards that aren’t leashed by anyone.” 

He was about to retort when he was interrupted. And for the split second he saw the manic glee that graced Rosie’s pretty features before she schooled her face into apathetic amusement. 

“Rosie, darling, here is that drink you requested.” 

Anthony stiffened at that familiar crooning voice behind them. His heart leapt to his throat before he slowly turned to face the man behind him. To say his jaw hit the floor at the sight of Alastor would be an understatement. As Anthony looked at the radio host, it seemed like everyone else faded from existence within sight. He wore a startlingly bright gold twin tail tuxedo jacket, with a blood red waistcoat and gold dress shirt. His brown hair slicked back except for the few stubborn strands that fell into his face. A gold tipped cane tucked beneath his elbow and two drinks held in his hands. His mask was mostly gold, including the short, hooked nose that looked like a beak, except for the eyes were painted with red diamonds.

“Thank you, Alastor. I appreciate it.” Rosie grabbed one of the glasses of bourbon from his gloved hands. “And I enjoyed our little talk, Angel, but I must entertain other guests. You know how business is.” 

Alastor nursed his glass, watching Rosie’s form disappear amongst the crowds and dancers guests. Anthony followed suit. Unsure what to say, if anything. He curled his hands into the skirts of his dress. 

After a few terse moments, Alastor spoke, “You look beautiful, Angel.” 

“Th--thank ya.” The pink on his ears spread to his cheeks and he almost wished he wore a more covering mask to keep anyone from seeing his fluster. 

“No nickname this time?” Alastor grinned beneath the nose of his mask. 

Anthony ignored his comment, “Ya really wanted to stand out tonight in that gold suit and mask.”

“Rosie insisted. I originally planned to go dressed in black like every other gentlemen here, but she would not let me out of the house until I put this on.” 

“I would be surprised if ya picked that out for yaself. Don’t get me wrong, Smiles. It makes ya look great.” 

“Thank you, Angel.” 

“You’re not using my real name even though ya know it?” He turned his gaze to Alastor, looking him in the eye. 

“You told me to call you Angel. I will respect that desire.” Alastor finished off the rest of his drink. His eyes narrowed in the slender eyeholes in the mask. He absentmindedly swung his cane around in an arc.

Over in the middle of the room, the attention of everyone in the room was drawn to Vox and Valentino. Vox climbed up onto a chair in the middle of the room with Valentino at his side, looking almost bored. Vox cleared his throat and gestured for the music to lower in the ballroom. 

“I want to personally welcome everyone to my Mardi Gras Gala this year. I appreciate everyone that showed up to enjoy this celebration with me. This holiday is very New Orleans and very us. Illegal liquor, dancing, food, partying. Everyone feel free to let go and indulge yourself in the essence of Fat Tuesday coming up in a couple weeks. I would also like to thank Valentino for helping me get the party together. And for the booze. Now everyone, enjoy yourself until you can’t remember the rest of the night and feel free to thank me for the wonderful hangover you’ll have the next day.” 

Valentino grinned under the acknowledgement and praise like he always did. His chest puffed out in the white waistcoat he wore. His top hat tucked behind his back. 

“Ugh I hate him.”

“I despise him.” Alastor said at the same time.

“Vox or Valentino?” Anthony asked.

“Vox.”

“Val.” Anthony broke out in laughter at their synchronous responses. 

Alastor chuckled softly with him, “Would you like a drink, Angel, dear?”

“I’d love one. But I’ll come with ya to get it. I don’t know that many people here, so I hope ya don't mind if I tag along with ya.” 

“I do not. I could use another drink myself. Vox has said one not asinine thing is his life and it is that I do not want to remember how many times he has paraded me around the ballroom as his favorite employee.” 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot that Vox works at the same radio station as ya.” 

Alastor’s grin sharpened, “I wish I could forget that little fact. Sadly, I am stuck with that obnoxious, pompous, piece of shit.”

“Hah, Smiles, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.” Anthony leaned against the bar as they approached, waiting for the bartender to be free from another guest. 

“I try not to. It is not very gentlemanly of me. However certain people deserve such phrasing.” The bartender approached them. “Another bourbon for me, good sir. And whatever Angel wants.” 

“Ya don’t gotta.”

“Now, do not fret yourself, dear. I offered to get you a drink and I will stand by that offer.” 

“Thank ya, Smiles. I’ll take a martini, extra strong.” 

The bartender rushed off to fill the drinks. Anthony eyed Alastor from the side, taking in his profile as the radio host leaned his back against the bar and watched the crowds of dancers, or more accurately, swayers. Anthony noticed how he tapped his foot along to the beat of the song as it came to an end. Alastor turned to look at Anthony. His gaze behind the mask seemed to pin him to the bar as the bartender placed their drinks next to them. Alastor held out his hand to Anthony. 

“Would you do the honor of joining me for a dance?”

“I don’t know. I’m not the best dancer.”

“Now, that is hard to believe. I do believe that you owe me a favor, darling, so why can it not be a simple dance.” 

Anthony slapped his hand into Alastor’s open palm. “If it’s gonna be that simple of a favor, how can I say no.” 

Alastor dragged Anthony into the middle of the crowd and nodded to the band on the stage to the side. Somehow they seemed to understand what the radio host wanted and switched the song from something slow and simple to a more upbeat and popular swing number. 

“Are you ready, my dear.” 

“Let’s say sure.” 

Alastor led Anthony through the quick swing steps. Anthony wouldn’t admit it, but he had practiced some of the popular dance moves that Alastor moved him in by himself, for the possibility of ever getting to perform those instead of his racy striptease, burlesque style dance moves. Song after song played and they danced together. Hands graced shoulders, waists, hips, other hands. Alastor’s touches were soft and certain, but never aggressive or invading. Their eyes only on each other’s face as they danced together. Anthony swung his skirts in a flourish. Alastor pulled him in and dipped him low to the ground before positioning him upright just as quickly. They swung their legs and arms in tandem with each other and the beat until Anthony felt a slight ache in his muscles and a burn in his lungs when he heaved in a breath. 

“Hey, Smiles, I think it’s time we take a break.” Anthony heaved. He could feel eyes on them from the crowd of guests that were also supposed to be dancing, but instead seemed more interested in watching the pair that seemed to know what they were actually doing on the floor. 

“I would be inclined to agree. Let us grab our drinks and take a seat.” Alastor grabbed his cane that he left by the bar and pressed it into the small of his back. 

Anthony grabbed their drinks and headed to one of the cloth covered tables that seemed relatively empty. Only a man with a black tuxedo and a half mask with a foot long nose sat. He twirled his own drink before pushing the mask into his mop of dark hair. The long zanni nose stuck up like a horn from his forehead. Anthony held back a chuckled as they approached the table. He flopped down in one of the chairs, taking a deep breath. Alastor untied his mask and placed it next to him on the table. 

“Fuck, Al, you just had to go showing off again. And you, kid, how dare you let him drag you into this bullshit.”

“Ah, Husker, my good friend, are you enjoying the party?” 

“If I knew you would be going with Rosie, I would’ve found my own date. Instead I’m fucking stuck here, alone, like a loser.” 

“Who would you bring if you had the opportunity? You do not have many friends. Even less of the female persuasion, Husker.” 

“Fuck you, Al.” Husk grumbled into the lip of his glass. 

Alastro laughed and sipped on his bourbon, “Such a word smith.”

“Niffty would’ve come if I asked.”

“However, you did not ask her. I would have recommended that you do not anyways.”

Husk growled, “Why’s that?”

“There are people here that I do not think she needs to meet yet. This is mainly a game of politics amongst those in power.” 

“Then why the fuck are we here? We ain’t affiliated with any of them shits.”

Anthony spoke up, “To show off or to use to make yaself seem more powerful than ya really are. Or for shits and giggles.” 

“Precisely, darling.” Alastor purred as he downed the rest of his bourbon. 

“I hate this shit.” 

“As do I, but you have to admit there can be some upsides and entertainment to be had.” 

“Yeah, no thanks. I’m going to get shit faced and not give a fuck.” 

“Allie, my boy, wasn’t that just a wonderful display of dancing. I got here in the nic of time to watch.” 

Anthony watched as Alastor stiffened in the slightest before his broad smile returned on full blast. He turned to see a man standing next to Alastor. A gold gloved hand grasped his shoulder. The man wore an all white tuxedo with a matching white silk top hat. Husk narrowed his gaze in the direction of the man. 

“I am glad you enjoyed it, Luci. However, it would not have been half the performance without my dance partner.” 

The man grinned. Suddenly Anthony recognized that face and signature white suit. Lucifer Magne. Mayor. Mobster. Crook. Killer.

“You’re right as always, Allie.” Lucifer fixed his gaze on Anthony. “Such a beautiful partner makes every dance that much better.” 

“Is there something we can do for you, Lucifer?” Alastor pulled his attention back to him. 

“Ah, no. I thought I would stop by to say hello because I haven’t seen you in so long. You really should come by the estate sometime. Maybe bring Charlotte with you. She seems to be avoiding me lately and spending all her time at that rehabilitation center.”

“I will be sure to, once I get some free time in my schedule.” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Anthony narrowed his eyes as he saw Alastor flinch under the grip. “Actually, I think there is something we should talk about now, Allie, boy, if you have some free time?”

“I have a few minutes. I hope you do not mind, Angel.” Alastor stood slowly, leaning into Anthony’s ear. “Please, do not go far. I have some things I would like to discuss with you when I return.” 

Anthony watched as Alastor left. Lucifer’s hand pressed into the small of his back to lead him wherever the mobster wished to talk. Alastor stood rimrod straight with a stiff smile on his face. Anthony sighed and turned his attention back towards his empty drink glass. He spun the olives around in the glass, trying to ignore the building tension in his chest, tapping his nails against the cool, smooth glass. 

“Don’t worry about Alastor.”

His head shot up as he eyed Husk across the table. “Why ya say that?”

“Magne might be a right bastard, but he won’t do anything to Alastor. Anyways, he can hold his own.” 

“I know that. But--”

Husk cut him off with his same gruff tone of voice, “Get another drink. Your worrying is pissing me off.”

“I barely got a word out.” 

“Does it look like I fucking care? Scram, kid.” 

Anthony huffed, but did what was demanded of him, aiming for the bar, when an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He stiffened at the familiar stink of cigar smoke and too much cologne. He only hoped that he didn’t notice the automatic response before he relaxed into the touch, like he was trained, head rolling against shoulder. 

“Who were you dancing with there, Angelcakes? It looked like you were having a fun fucking time.” 

“Just doin’ what ya asked of me, boss, showing off the goods.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” Val hissed through gritted teeth. Anthony could smell the stale stench of booze that clung to his teeth and he was jealous. He would give anything to be drunk or high right now. 

“I think I can answer that one.” Alastor clicked the end of his cane against the wooden ballroom floor. He bowed low at the waist, one hand pressed to his front he other tucked to the small of his back. “Alastor Leveau, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Your name sounds familiar. You like whores?” Val drawled. His words slurred together. 

Alastor held up a hand in defence. “Ha, no. Not usually. But you may know me from my radio show, or that you seem to hang around with my boss, Vox.” 

“Now that you mention it, you do sound like that popular radio host. I know Angie here likes to listen to your show when he isn’t working.” Anthony flushed beneath his mask. “It tends to distract him from getting on stage and getting naked. The men that frequent my establishment like a whore that pays attention to them when they’re inside him, not some faceless voice on the fucking radio box.” 

Anthony purposefully ignored Alastor’s gaze, staring at the ground and shifting within Valentino’s grip. He balled up his hands in the long skirts of the dress. Everything in his being begged to get away from this conversation. An itch to drown in boozer and PCP until he could forget his shame and evening. In that moment of silence before Alastor spoke, Anthony convinced himself that Alastor would hate him and never look at him again let alone talk to him, but something seemed to shift in the air Alastor gave off and instead of turning away and leaving, he held out a gloved hand to Anthony. 

“May I have another dance?” 

Anthony had no voice as he stared out at the hand in from. His mouth agape as if to speak, but all words stuck to the inside of his throat. He swallowed hard, without thinking, took that outstretched hand and let Alastor tug him out of Valentino’s embrace. 

“Angel--” Valentino started, in an almost growl. 

Alastor held up his free hand to silence him, “Another time, Valentino. I believe that Angel is preoccupied. If you have something to say, please refrain until after this dance.” 

He swung Anthony onto the middle of the dance floor. The song that played wasn’t one of the upbeat swing numbers or rambunctious jazzy melodies, but instead a slower song filled with the soft crooning of the saxophone and the high plucking of violin strings. Alastor placed a hand on Anthony’s waist and gestures for Anthony to place his hand on the lapel of his suit. He clasped the other gently in the air as they danced across the floor with others, mainly couples by the looks of it. His hands ghosted along Anthony’s body, as if he was unsure how to hold him with purpose, only because he had to if he wanted to lead him through the steps. Alastor said nothing as he spun them, guided them across the dance floor. He absentmindedly twirled Anthony when the beat of the song called for it. Each step was calculated and smooth, slow and steady, gentle and uncomplicated. 

“I’m--I’m sorry ‘bout that.” 

“What do you have to apologize for, my dear?”

“For Val. And for the fuckin’ things he said. I didn’t want ya to find out like that. ‘Specially not from ‘im.”

“I can understand why you hate him. He is a piece of work. Rosie has talked about him on a couple of occasions. Mostly complaints if I remember correctly. I can see, now, where her frustrations arise from.” Alastor dipped Anthony low in his arms, holding his shoulders and hips before righting him. “Indeed, I assume you did not want me to know about your, ahem, profession, for understandable reasons. However, I will never judge you for what you do to make money. On multiple occasions, I may have come to the realization on my own.” 

“Yeah? When?”

“Well, I really thought about it when the police officer at the station called you a whore. I knew it was not for your clothing choice because you were dressed rather conservatively that day. I also assumed, since you never mention much about yourself, you are either unhappy or worried I would judge.” 

“It’s not like ya talk ‘bout yaself all the fuckin’ time.”

“Very true. However, you happen to know a substantial amount more about me than I do about you.” Alastor took a deep breath. “We should probably talk about the incident at the police station.”

Anthony inched slightly closer to Alastor, closing the space between them. Alastor either didn’t notice or decided he was apathetic to it. Anthony took a deep inhale. Alastor smelled the same. Strawberries and artificially saccharine. He wanted to be surrounded in that scent, in that safe and familiar smell that only came from Alastor. 

“We should? Why’s that?” 

“After the explosion, the police showed up at my house. They interrogated me about it because of the suspicious timing, with me showing up to post bail minutes before the explosion and the escape of a wanted terrorist.”

Anthony laughed through his nose, shaking his head. “Ya mean Cherry.” 

“Yes. They wanted to know if I had any information on Miss Anders, or the explosion, but I had no idea any of that would happen so they left without any substantive evidence about the explosion at the station. I just said I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Sorry ‘bout all that. Though, I promise I will show up to my hearin’ so ya can get ya money back.” 

“I am not very troubled about money. All this is a way of working myself up to the real reason of this conversion.” 

Anthony swallowed hard, already anticipating what was to come; Alastor was going to break off their friendship. Everything that he worked so hard for, stalking the radio host, trying to befriend him, would come crashing down around him. His steps faltered slightly, but Alastor’s strong grip kept him from tripping or completely falling on his face. 

“I would like to apologize, Angel.” 

He stopped in his tracks. The song slowly faltered out around him. Anthony gazed up into those deep brown eyes, barely believing the words that exited that grinning mouth. The grin that seemed the smallest he’d ever seen it. Still definitely a smile, but a slight, insincere one. 

“Whatcha say?”

Alastor let his hands drop to his sides. “I said, I would like to apologize to you, Angel. I ignored you for the past couple of weeks, even when you came by to make sure I was doing alright after the explosion. Ignroing you was immature and incredibly rude of me. I should never have done that to you. However, I needed some time to myself to figure some things out and right my head.” 

“It’s alright, Smiles. I get it. But can I ask ya, what did ya need time to think ‘bout?”

“I am not ready to disclose that, yet. I hope you do not hold that against me.” 

“Nah, I don’t hold it against ya. Like ya said, I already know a lotta ‘bout ya while ya don’t know much ‘bout me.”

“It did take me busting you out of a prison you planned on blowing up for me to learn your given name or even your family name.” 

“Hey! That explosion was all Cherry and Rosie. Don’t ya go placing all the blame on me.” Anthony poked him in the chest. “And if ya do snitch, I can always claim ya as a fuckin’ accomplice ‘cause ya did bust me outta there or tell them all ‘bout those little late night hobbies of yours.” 

“I have no desire to interact with the police more than necessary.” Alastor’s grin widened, lighting up his eyes with a joyful glow. Not the same malcontented or malicious one that Anthony was familiar with, but one of true joyous amusement. 

“Hey, Smiles, thanks.”

Alastor cocked his head to the side on confusion, “For what?”

“For not bein’ a total dick.”

“That seems like a low bar for friendship, but I will accept, if you will accept my offer of companionship?”

Anthony lit up at the idea, practically bouncing on his toes, but there was still the hollow feeling in his chest at the choice of words that Alastor used. Friendship. Companionship. Anthony wasn’t sure what else he would expect out of the radio host, but that hollowness grew. A weight pressed into his belly. 

Instead of showing it, he held out a hand and asked, “Anotha’ dance, Smiles?”

“I would be delighted.” 

Alastor’s grip on his waist was firmer than before. More confident. As if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His large hands were warm through the gloves as they pressed into the thin fabric of the dress. Fingers splayed out to keep a solid hold on Anthony. His other hand gently cupped Anthony’s in a soft grip, only hard enough to keep him close, but still loose enough to let go if he wanted to spin Anthony, or twirl him through the next step. Anthony’s face warmed as he watched Alastor’s face. Alastor refused to take his eyes off his face. Brown eyes pierced through his mismatched ones, as if he could command him to never look away he would. A small smile grew on Anthony’s face as they danced through one song and into the next, when he noticed that Alastor drew him closer during one of the outward twirls, pressing his front in Anthony’s back; Anthony’s arms crossed over his chest. Alastor’s heartbeat thundered against his back, fast and strong. His slight uptake in breath tickled the cusp of Anthony’s ear. 

“Thank you for this dance. You have been lovely entertainment, like always, my darling Angel.” He breathed in Anthony’s ear. Alastor softly gripped his chin and shifted his gaze to the fuming Valentino on the sideline, tapping his foot with his arms crossed and face red as a tomato, next to an amused Vox. “It seems you are in high demand.”

“I’d rather dance with ya, Smiles, than deal with that shit.” 

“If Angel demands another dance, how else must I react other than to do as he demands of me. Especially if I get another wonderful dance out of the deal.”

However, as Alastor spun Anthony out of his grip and away from his body, arms splayed wide, Valentino stalked onto the dancefloor, tugging Anthony’s free wrist until he lost grip of Alastor and slammed against Valentino’s chest. He shoved Anthony onto the floor at Vox’s feet before he charged at Alastor, stopping inches away from his face. Valentino was a couple of inches taller than Alastor, staring down at the end of his nose at the man. Anthony moved to stand, to interrupt the stand off, but vox clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing. The other hand held a finger to his lips. The universal sign to shut up. 

“May I help you?” Alastor smiled slyly at Valentino. Voice full of disdain hardly disguised as civility. 

“You seem to like my whore, Radioman, I usually charge for someone to get his attention for so long. I don’t appreciate people playing with my things without paying the price for them.”

Alastor shrugged, “I was only trying to enjoy my time at this party. And it seemed to me that Angel preferred my company to the likes of a common sleazy pimp with no respect for human decency or decorum at such a gathering. However, I do not know what I expected out of you Valentino. This is pretty much as good as you get it seems.” 

“Why you little shit,” Valentino grabbed Alastor by the collar, ripping off Alastor’s mask and throwing it to the floor. The music came to a screeching halt as everyone stopped their dancing to stare at the commotion of the floor. “How dare you fucking come here and touch my things without my permission and claim that he likes touching you better. I can please him better than you. I had him on his knees for me last night.” 

Alastor grabbed the hand holding his collar, ripping it away from him in a fluid motion. “I do not appreciate being touched by filth such as yourself, so if you could please refrain from doing so in the future, I would recommend it.” His grin widened even further, showing off the sharp canines that peaked over his lip, caught in the electronic chandelier light. 

Valentino growled deep in his chest, preparing to throw a punch. Alastor stayed still, as if he didn’t care if he was about to get hit. Anthony slammed his eyes shut, refusing to watch. But he heard no sound of skin being hit or of a grunt or anything that would anticipate that Alastor got hit. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Why’d you stop me?” Valentino shouted. 

Anthony peeled open his eyes to gaze at the scene before him. Valentino’s fist was mere moments from hitting Alastor’s face when it was stopped, held in that position by another. Lucifer Magne gripped his elbow, keeping it from continuing forward. A small smirk on Alastor’s face was the only indication that he was in control of the entire situation. Rosie strolled up to the crowd in the center. A lit cigarette hung in her hand in a cigarette holder. A look of unattached amusement played underneath her mask. In her other hand, she swung Alastor’s forgotten cane in a circle. 

“I believe that Allie asked you not to touch him.” Lucifer grinned. His grip tightening on Valentino’s arm as Valentino tried to shove him off. 

“Why are you getting involved Magne? This got nothing to do with you.” 

Rosie caught in, “On the contrary, Valentino, Mr. Leveau is under the protection of both Mr. Magne and myself.” 

“Why the fuck? I know that he fucks around with you Rosie, but why you, Magne? Why protect him?”

Lucifer only shrugged, “My intentions and actions are for me to know and you to never figure out. I think that it is time for you to go home and sober up, Valentino, for the sake of everyone here and yourself. Do we have an understanding?” 

Valentino nodded, shaking off Lucifer. He cut a glare to Alastor and Rosie before stalking, defeated, up to Anthony. He pulled Anthony to his feet with a rough pull of his wrist. Anthony glanced between him and Alastor. Rosie kept a hand on Alastor’s bicep as if to keep him from moving. She whispered something in his ear before releasing her hold on him. Alastor bowed at his waist silently behind Valentino’s back. His cane was placed into his hand behind his back by Rosie. 

“We’re leaving, Angel. This party isn’t any fun anymore.” 

Anthony held back a laugh at the audacity of Valentino to act like he didn’t get forced out of the party, as if leaving was his plan to begin with. He allowed himself to be dragged out of the party, turning his head over his shoulder to catch one last glance of Alastor in his golden tuxedo and masquerade mask placed back on his face. He was pushed into the backseat of the automobile. Valentino slid into the seat next to him, kicking the back of the driver’s chair to demand him to start the automobile. Anthony could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, fuming in the backseat as the rain continued to pelt the windows. Anthony said nothing, barely moving in the back seat of the automobile. He hoped that Valentino would forget that he was there that he was the reason that he was so furious. However, he must have breathed too loud or shifted too quickly because suddenly his face was slammed into the cold glass. A hand pinned him to the window while the other pinned his wrist in a twist behind his back. 

“Did you get off on that Angel? Pissing me off and making me look like a fool in front of everyone back there. You had one fucking job. One fucking job!” 

He slammed Anthony’s face back into the glass. Over and over. Tears stung at his eyes as his temple was repeatedly crushed against the window. It fogged under his panting breath. A metallic taste filled his mouth as his nose was squashed in on one of the shoves. Blood gushed down his face and into his mouth and lap, staining and darkening the dress. He cried out as he was repeatedly assaulted against the window. No longer able to repel the tears that fell. The mixed with the blood, diluting it and making it even saltier on his tongue. 

“Don’t you ever think you can do something like that to me again. I swear to all that his fucking holy, I will kill you if you ever embarress me like that again. Do you fucking here me? Do you fucking understand me? Even with your shit sized brain you should be able to get one fucking thing clear.” Valentino gripped Anthony’s face, making him stare right into Valentino’s eyes. “I fucking own you. Get that through your fucking skull, Angel, before it gets you killed.” 

All Anthony remembers before passing out in the backseat of the automobile, was pain, blood, and the demand for the driver to drop him off at his apartment. He remembered the smell of smoke, of booze, of sweat. Of a worried and anxious Cherry trying to convince him to stay conscious, but he refused to listen, instead giving into the sweet relief and silence or unconsciousness.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is longer than I ever planned. I have most of it planned out, but how many words or chapters its gonna take always surprise me. I love the comments and the kudos. The theories and how it makes you all fear always entertain me, and I won't lie, it sometimes will affect how I present something so I make sure that I get the point I'm trying to point out across. Thank you again for the love and support!

Alastor felt a pit form in his belly as he walked around the French Quarter. This shifting, tightening lump in his gut had been there since the previous night, since he watched Valentino drag Angel out of the Mardi Gras party. He wanted to stop Angel from going, knowing what type of man Valentino was like when angry. A similar man to Alastor, if he was self critical enough to admit it. Both dealt with their torrents of feelings in violent, destructive ways. However, seeing Angel being the one at the other end of it, didn’t sit right with him. Something felt off, wrong, to watch him leave without so much as a goodbye. Especially after Alastor has found it in himself to apologize. He did it mostly out of his own selfish desire to have Angel back in his life. He found that without him, it seemed like his daily life had become dull, placid, unentertaining. Alastor desired that spark of life and pure entertainment that seemed to follow Angel wherever he went.

That was how he found himself in the even seedier parts of the French Quarter. On a wild goose chase for a missing Angel. Rosie insisted that he could be found here. But all he seemed to find were prostitutes that were not him and drug addicts strung out on the corner. Alastor tended to avoid these aspects of New Orleans as he found no desire for the strip clubs or crack houses that littered among the streets, unless he was looking for a victim, but then he stuck to the prostitutes instead of the drugged out, half conscious ones that may not even realize he was slaughtering them.

A girl sauntered up to him, sashaying her hips in a way that would draw most men’s attention to her figure, but Alastor found himself unentertained by movements. 

“Looking for a good time, baby?” She drawled out, sliding her hand up his shoulders. 

Alastor grabbed her hand, peeling her away from him. “Not one that you could give me, my dear.” 

“Are you looking for someone else? Someone a little less feminine maybe?”

He took a step back away from the woman. Just below her collar he noticed a thick scar in the shape of a ‘V’. He was certain that she must be one of Valentino’s girls. “Actually I am looking for a possible acquaintance of yours. Goes by Angel. He has brown and blue eyes, blond hair, and about this tall.” 

“Yeah, I know Angel. He tends to be one of the favorites around here, so I’m not surprised that you're looking for him. I’m not sure where he lives or nothing, but you can check in the club to see if he’s working there tonight.”

“Is there a chance that Valentino will be there tonight?” 

Alastor was pretty certain that if he saw Valentino there wouldn’t be much that could stop him from reacting violently and trying to kill the man, especially if he found out that he scarred Angel in the same way he did to this prostitute. He was certain that Valentino held the same sentiment. Rosie already condemned that action, telling him that it would send everything into chaos for the underground businesses and there would mostly be a hit placed on his head for retribution of a gang boss, if he could even get that close to Valentino without getting himself killed first. 

“There’s always a chance, but he tends to be busy on Sundays and rarely comes in, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. He don’t like you or something?”

“Something like that. If you could point out which club that Angel frequents, I would appreciate it.” 

She gestured down a couple of streets, “It’s right that way, you’ll take a right and a left and then you should see a building dressed up in lights with girls dancing in the windows. It isn’t hard to miss.”

“And he’s allowed to show off his dancers without any reprobation from the police.”

The girl shrugged, “Don’t know. I assume Val’s paid most of the cops off by now so that he can do his shit the way he wants.”

“Thank you for your time. I hope you find someone who is interested in what you have to offer.”

“Good luck finding Angel. If he doesn’t want to be found, the only one who will know where he is would be Val, or maybe that girl he’s always hanging around with.”

He nodded and turned in the direction she recommended for him. She was right when he said that the club would be easy to find. Alastor noticed the girls dressed only in their underclothes, man and woman both gawked as they passed, some in desire and others in surprise. A pole stood in the middle of the glass display that the two girls moved between using. Alastor ducked his head, aiming for the entrance of the establishment. If he could call such a place that. Something in it ruffled his feathers. Maybe it was the thought of Angel being one of those girls paraded in a glass box for all to see. 

A hand stopped him from entering, “Cover charge. One fifty.” 

Alastor dug out the cash and placed it into the bouncers awaiting grip. He pulled his cap down low over his brow as he was ushered through. Immediately he was hit with the stench of stale booze, slick sweat, and the mixtures of strong perfumes. A weight settled in his gut as he looked around the floor and the multiple stages, seeing no sign of Angel. Alastor took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. He couldn’t give you just yet. Maybe Angel was hidden behind the stage or maybe there was someone that could let him know more about where Angel could be. Alastor took a seat along the bar and ordered himself a seltzer as he waited. The bartender served him with a raised brow, but didn’t comment. 

He adamantly ignored the advances of other dances, scanning them quickly before moving on when he realized they weren’t Angel. The music changed. Alastor dragged his attention to one of the main stages surrounded mostly by men and a couple women. A woman walked on to the stage, swinging her long leg up on the pull, draping her body low to expose the curve of her torso and the length of her limbs. For a moment, her blond hair and pale skin reminded him of Angel, but it was definitely a woman, one with a matching pair of slate eyes. His smile sharpened in annoyance and defeat. A scowl threatened to pull the corners down, but he smiled even stronger in defiance to his feelings. 

“Are you looking for a specific girl?” The bartender asked, setting another glass of seltzer in front of Alastor. 

“You could say that. How could you tell, good sir?” Alastor sipped on his drink. 

The bartender laughed through his nose, “You seem so disinterested in everyone who tries to approach you and you barely pay attention to the stages other than to figure out who’s dancing. Most men who come in don’t care what pretty piece of ass they want to touch or watch unless they come in looking for someone.” 

Alastor sighed, “I am looking for someone, however, I do not know if they are even here this evening.” 

“Who are you looking--”

A body crashed into the bar in a flurry of red blond hair and long limbs. “Yo, what’s a girl gotta do to get a fucking drink around here?” 

The bartender frowned at the young woman, shaking his head as he spoke, “Cherry, can’t you see that I’m in the middle of something with another customer? What do you need now?”

“But you know I’m your favorite customer to have.” She smirked. “I need a bottle or two of the good stuff. For Angie.”

Alastor eyed the woman from the side. Her hair was a catastrophe of frizz and as long as her ass, half of it tied into a bun on the top of her head. Her bare arms showed the bright red tattoos that covered them. She was dressed in trousers cuffed above her loafers and a buttoned up blouse ripped at the navel with an uneven hemline. As she moved, her jacket shifted, showing the revolver holstered at her hip. 

“Fine. But only ‘cause it’s Angel. I better not get in trouble with Val for this. I expect you two to pay for them, you know.”

She waved him off, gathering the bottle of rum and the bottle of whiskey he placed on the counter in front of her in her slender arms. “Yeah, of course we will. Thanks.” 

Alastor watched as she half bounced, half sauntered towards the back of the club. He kept his gaze on her as he refused to lose his only lead to Angel. 

“So, who were you looking for again?” 

“Thanks for your assistance, but I think I found someone who will be of more help.” He finished off his drink and placed a five dollar bill on the counter, turning to follow the woman through the crowd.

“Uh, sir, this is way too much for what you ordered.”

Alastor shot him a sharp grin, “The rest goes to cover that woman’s bill for the alcohol she grabbed from you. I hope that is not a problem.”

“Not at all.” He grabbed the bill and tucked it away. 

Alastor ducked through the crowd, avoiding to the best of his ability, the approach of other dancers or even the collusion with other patrons. He almost lost the woman he was after as she ducked into a swell of the crowd, but he noticed her prominent silhouette disappear behind a stage and into the back of the club. He waited for a moment before dipping backstage after her. After the door shut behind him, the music calmed, buffered behind the dark wood, but that only gave him the opportunity to hear things he would have preferred to never hear. The groans and moans of people in closed off, private rooms. Feminine voices begged for things that sent shivers down his spine at the thought. His hands fisted at his sides as he blocked out the yells and cries of pleasure, hoping to find Cherry at the end of the hall. 

He found a heavy steel door at the end of the long hallway. Alastor shoved it open with his hip, heading up the steps that lead out from the basement of the club into a small cove hidden between buildings, shielding his eyes against the light of the setting sun, pulling the cap even lower on his face. He looked up, finding the barrel of a revolver in front of his face. The click of the hammer as it slid into place. 

“Why the fuck are you following me?” 

Alastor raised his hands on either side of his head. “Maybe I am not following you.”

“Like I believe that load of bullshit.” She shifted on her feet, readjusting the bottle of alcohol cradled in her arms and against her popped hip. “I’m not going to ask again. I’d rather just fucking shoot you. So, tell me, why are you following me?”

“I am looking for Angel and you seemed like the best source to figure out where he is.”

Her scowl deepened. “Why the fuck are you looking for Angel?”

“I am a friend. I am worried about him.”

She used the barrel of the gun, pressing it against the rim, to flip his cap off his face. In that moment, Alastor grabbed the wrist with the gun, twisting it behind her back until she dropped the revolver, wrapping his other hand around her waist, pressing her back against his chest. 

“I thought you said you were his friend. Anyone would know that Angel wouldn’t appreciate you manhandling me like this, fucker.”

“I do not particularly like having a gun in my face when I am trying to have a civil discussion. All I wanted was the opportunity to make sure that Angel was doing alright.”

“Then let me go.” Before she even got the words out, Alastor released her. 

He kicked her revolver out of the way and a good distance. Alastor picked up his cap, dusting it from the dirt and grime from the entrance to the club. He adjusted his suit jacket so that no aspect was out of place. His arms hung limp at his sides. 

“Why do you care if Angie’s alright?

“I thought we went over this. I am a friend of his.”

She rose a light brow at him, skeptical and suspicious of him. “And who are you?”

“The name is Alastor. It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Anders.”

“No one calls me that except for pigs and the government.” Realization seemed to morph her features into surprise, then into a smirk, and then into bubbling laughter. “Wait, you’re the Alastor that Angie talks about? He’s right. You do talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass. But he never mentioned that you would come looking for him, so what’s that about?”

Alastor looked down at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them. “I am worried that Valentino might have hurt him and that I might have been the cause for such damage. I thought it necessary to check on him.” 

Cherry looked him up and down, from the stiffness in his shoulders, to the way his hands kept fisting and releasing, to the barely there smile that refused to reach his eyes. She shook her head before pressing the bottle of alcohol into his arms. 

“Take these. I’ll show you where he’s at, but that’s all. I got other shit to do.” She picked up the forgotten revolver, holstering at her hip. Cherry walked to the mouth of the buildings. She looked over her shoulder to the stilled Alastor. “You coming or what?”

“Yes, I apologize.” Alastor strode after her, following her through a couple of streets until they entered the heart of the French Quarter. 

He ducked the bottle of alcohol under the flaps of his suit jacket. Cherry pulled out a string from under her shirt with a couple of keys attached at the end of the leather twine. She slipped one of the keys into an iron gate, shoving it open on squealing hinges. She held out her hand, gesturing for him to slip past the gate. 

“The apartment is on the second floor. Number 203. He should be home. All you gotta do is knock.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Anders.”

“Just fucking call me Cherry like everyone else. And no need to thank me. I’m doing this for Angie. But if you harm one hair on his fucking head, you’re dead, Alastor. I swear to fucking god.” She slammed the gate shut as soon as he was on the other side. “I mean it. I’ve already got a couple warrants out for my arrest, adding another murder to it won’t change shit for me.” 

Alastor grinned at her through the iron bars. “I would like to see you try, Cherry. However, Rosie would be upset if I took away a source of her entertainment. Also, you have no need to worry, dear. I have no desire to cause harm to Angel.” He turned on his heel, heading into the building with a wave. “Have a nice evening.” 

He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. Alastor headed up the stairs. He was careful not to drop the bottles of alcohol hidden in his coat. He turned down a carpeted hallway into the bones of the apartment building. His nose scrunched at the stench of stale tobacco, dried piss, and vomit. Alastor stopped in front of the door with the number that Cherry mentioned, or at least he assumed it was the right number, as it only had the two and the zero left on it, with the faint outline of a three on the door. He raised a hand to knock on the door, but hesitated before knocking. 

His hand hovered in front of the door as his mind began to spiral downward. Maybe Angel wouldn’t be home and all this would be for nothing. Maybe Angel didn’t want to see Alastor. Maybe he was completely unfazed by the events of the party last night. However, what he had heard about Valentino, he knew the man had a violent temper and Angel wouldn't be the first to feel the pain of those outbursts. Either way, Alastor decided he needed to see Angel, to make sure everything was alright, or as alright as it could be living the way he did. He knocked softly against the wood of the door. 

No response came. 

He knocked again, more aggressively. Still nothing. Alastor took a deep breath about to knock for a third time when he heard steps, a couple of muffled swears, and the unlocking of a chain through the door.

The door swung open, “What took ya so long, Cherry? Ya lose ya fuckin’ keys again or some shit.”

“Hello.” Alastor said. 

Angel’s eyes widened before the door slammed closed in Alastor’s face. He stared at the door unable to process exactly what to do next. He thought he should leave, but before he could turn to leave the door opened.

“Ya ain’t Cherry.” Angel kept his gaze locked on his feet. 

“Sadly, I am not Miss Anders, but she requested that I give these to you.” He held out the bottles of rum and whiskey. 

“Uh, thanks,” Angel muttered, grabbing the bottles. 

As he looked up to grab them, Alastor noticed his face. Half of Angel’s face was heavily bruised and swollen black and purple and yellow. A bandage placed over the bridge of his nose. A split in his eyebrow and through his bottom lip. Angel’s shoulders hunched inwards as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Alastor raised a hand to his face as if to cup his face, but let it drop quickly to his side. Neither said anything. One stood in the hallway. The other in the doorway. 

“So, ya wanna come in?” Angel turned his back to Alastor as he noticed him staring at the bandaging and bruises. 

“Only if you want me to. If you would rather I leave, you just have to say, my dear.” He didn’t move from his spot in the hallway. Alastor refused to move until he knew this is what Angel wanted. He wouldn’t invade his space without his consent, especially when he was still healing.

Angel cleared his throat, “Ya can stay.” He winced as a smile pulled at his lips. 

“I appreciate it, darling.” 

Alastor walked into the living room. Hands clasped behind his back. He looked around the small apartment. The main room separated into a kitchen and living room by a waist high wall. Two doors closed on the far end of the apartment that he assumed to be bedrooms, as the door to the bathroom was open with the light turned on. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, Smiles?” Angel crossed his arms over his stomach. 

“You should probably change that bandage.” Alastor headed into the bathroom, noticing the bandages and antiseptic piled onto the floor. “It will be easier if you let me help.”

“It’s alright, Al, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I am here, am I not? Let me assist. Take a seat.” He gestured to the toilet. 

“But-”

Alastor held a hand, “No more excuses. Let me help you, Angel.” 

“You’re a stubborn bastard, ya know that?” Angel sat, turning his face away from Alastor to try to hide the small smile that played on his mouth. 

“So I have been told.” 

Alastor peeled off the soaked and dirty bandage, grabbing a rag and running it beneath the tap. He pressed the lukewarm towel to Angel’s face to clean the bruises and cuts. Neither said anything as Alastor worked on cleaning up the damage. A comfortable, warm silence settled between the two. He applied the antiseptic to the open cuts. Angel hissed through clenched teeth at the pain. Alastor turned his attention to his nose, it sat a bit out of place, stained around the nostril with dried blood and snot. 

“Angel, dear, I need to set your nose.”

“Wait, what?”

“Unless you would prefer to go see a physician.” 

Angel balked, “I don’t like doctors. They creep me out.”

“It must be set within two weeks of the displacement otherwise we will need to go to a physician. I can do it for you now, which is the best option or Miss Anders will have to set it.”

“I don’t think Cherry knows how to do it.” Angel looked into Alastor’s eyes before eventually dropping his head in defeat. “Fine, Smiles, just fuckin’ get it over with.”

Alastor kneeled in front of Angel’s face, taking it in two hands. It was warm through the gloves he always wore. A splattering of pink along his delicate cheekbones and the tips of his ears. Angel looked away from Alastor, refusing to make eye contact.

“Do not worry. It will be over quickly. However, it might be best if you grab onto my shoulder or shirt.”

“This the shit that gets ya turned on, Smiles?” Angel smirked. 

“On the contrary, I would usually offer a hand, as it will hurt a bit and I would prefer that you did not suddenly grab me and try to stop me before I complete the set. So, the best option would be my shirt or shoulder.” 

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Ya take the fun outta everythin’.”

“My goal is life, my dear.” 

He stiffened when Angel placed both hands on his shoulders, gripping his shirt loosely in his grip, but quickly relaxed. Alastor readjusted his grip on Angel’s face, pressing his thumbs to either side of the sore tissue. He pressed into his nose, adjusting the cartilage and bones until they fit back into place. Angel screamed out in pain, yanking against the fabric on Alastor’s shoulders. Alastor tilted Angel’s head back, slipping in tissue packing into the nostrils to keep it set. 

“For fuck’s sake, Alastor, ya say that ‘hurts a bit’, ya fuckin’ psycho. That hurt like bitch.” His voice came out sounding like it did when Alastor had a cold. Rough and nasilly. 

Alastor grabbed a bottle of aspirin, dumping some of the pills into his palm. He placed them in Angel’s hand before heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He found a glass in one of the cabinets, filling it in the sink, he was halfway through filling the glass when he heard Angel shout from the bathroom.

“I’d rather have booze than some fuckin’ water.” 

Alastor returned with the glass, pressing it into Angel’s empty hand. “Alcohol will make you bleed more. Drink. You need to replenish your fluids.”

“Told ya, ya take the fun outta everythin’.” Angel swallowed the painkillers and downed the glass of water. “What’s next, Doc Smiles?”

“Rest. You need to sleep. It is the only way that you will heal.” 

“Ugh, boring.” Angel threw his head back before refocusing on Alastor. “Unless ya wanna join me in bed.” 

His face warmed under the insinuation. “Ha, no. I would never think to do something so improper.” 

“Ya kill people, Al.”

“That I do. Now, to bed.”

Angel crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatcha gonna do if I refuse?” 

“This.” Alastor wrapped on his arms around Angel’s waist, lifting him off the toilet as he stood, slinging him over his shoulder. He held onto Angel by the hips and behind his bear. 

“Put me down right the fuck now.” Angel slammed his fists into Alastor’s back. “I mean it. Fuckin’ put me down.” 

Alastor ignored his squirming and protests as he carried Angel out of the bathroom and to the closed doors. He tried the first one, which as he opened assumed was Cherry’s because it looked like a chemistry lab exploded over the entire space. He opened the last door. Alastor knew it was Angel’s by the sight of it. Wigs and makeup and brasseries covered every surface except for the bed. Clothes piled onto the floor of the closet or folded, forgotten, in hampers. 

“Alastor, put me down!”

“As you wish, my dear.” Alastor flipped Angel over his shoulder, cradling the small of his back and the back of his head as he laid Angel gently on the bed. 

“Really? Ya carried me to bed and ya ain’t even gonna fuck me.” Angel rolled over onto his side away from Alastor with a pout. 

“You are welcome. Now, get some rest.” Alastor headed for the door of the bedroom.

Angel sat up, facing Alastor, “Wait, are ya headin’ out?”

“I came to make sure that you were alright, so since I can attest that you are alive and still have enough energy to yell and scream and be a brat, I will be heading home.”

“Smiles?”

“Yes, Angel, dear?”

“Can ya stay for a bit? Just ‘til I fall asleep? I haven’t really been able to sleep ‘cause I keep thinkin’ ‘bout ‘im. How he’ll come back and finish the job.”

Alastor marched over to Angel, kneeling on the mattress so he was eye height with him, “I would never let that happen, Angel. I promise you. As long as I am around, you will stay alive.” 

“Than ya’ll stay?”

He stood back up, pulling at the hem of his gloves. “Until you fall asleep and Miss Anders returns home. I will not leave you alone if you do not wish me to. If you wish, you may come by the station tomorrow and sit in the booth with me.”

“Really, Smiles?”

“As long as you agree to be quiet when I say.” 

“Promise. Cross my heart.” 

Alastor’s smile softened at the way Angel bounced on his knees on the bed, excitement radiated off of him. It made him shine and glow. Alastor thought he could look at the sight forever. The way the excitement caused his skin to flush. His freckles disappeared beneath the bruises and the warmth of his skin. 

“Then yes, you may come along. You will not have to be alone then. However, you need to get to sleep before any of that can happen. I will be right outside in the living room if you need anything. If you do, just yell for me.”

“Thank ya, Smiles.” Angel crawled under the covers, pulling them up to his chin like a baby being swaddled. “Night.”

“Good night, my darling Angel.” 

Alastor flicked off the lightswitch and closed the door most of the way. He headed towards the small radio he noticed in the corner by the window, turning the dials until he found a suitable station of calm and almost melancholic jazz. Alastor eyed the bookcase it sat on, finding something suitable to distract himself with until Cherry came home.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more sweetness for my patient readers. Thank you for the love and support like always! Always feel free to leave comments and tell me anything or ask me anything.

“Welcome back everyone, today is Monday March Third, the day before the Mardi Gras day. I hope that everyone is making plans to enjoy the wonderful holiday with their loved ones. However, and I hate to bring this up on such a splendid and joyful part of the year, the police have asked me to put out a curfew recommendation for next week. As of this past weekend, and this might be graphic for those of sensitivities and children, so please feel free to come back for our wonderful jazz program in a short while, a body was found in the wooded areas near the bayou. There are signs of both the Rose Killer and the Smilemaker serial killer found on this body. It seems that the two elusive, infamous New Orleans killers have been working together as of late. What does this mean for us? Does it mean that there will be half the bodies as usual or more? No one really knows. So that police are issuing a statement to keep in groups after dark and if possible to stay inside after sunset to limit the amount of potential targets for these serial murderers. However, I know us New Orleanians, and tomorrow is Fat Tuesday, so I would not expect anything to put our love and pride for the holiday to spill into the streets until morning. The desire for celebration is part of New Orleans’ culture and no killer, or killers, is going to change our love of parades, our balls, or dancing. Now to help get into the spirit of joie de vivre, a rambunctious tune, the Mardi Gras Mambo.” 

Alastor sat back in his chair as the needle spun on the record and the light went out, signaling that he was off the air. A large grin pulled at his cheeks. Across from his desk, with no microphone and a smirk on his face, sat Angel. He tied his hair back to the nape of his neck, but a couple of strands fell in front of his face. 

“Ya like talkin’ ‘bout yaself on the radio.” Angel propped his head on his hands. 

Alastor’s grin shifted until it mirrored Angel’s smirk. “I do not know what you mean.”

He rolled his mismatched eyes. “Smilemaker is a silly name for a serial killer, dontcha think?”

“I would think that whoever is behind these heinous acts most likely did not name himself, but rather, he was christened with it by the police and media, and there is unlikely going to be any way to change it now.” 

“I also didn’t know you spoke French.” 

“I do, but the french you hear around here would be called a bastardization but Parisians. It is Cajun French, but of course, you don’t want to get it confused with Louisiana Creole, which is a different dialect.”

“Do ya speak them too?”

“My mother spoke to me mostly in Louisiana Creole, but most pick up the Cajun French by just being in this part of Louisiana. Of course, my mother also insisted on sending me to a french speaking catholic school where they taught me proper french. She also insisted that I focus on english, so that I can work with the public with more ease.”

“Wow, that’s like four languages. And three of ‘em are pretty similar. Dontcha get them confused with each other?”

“Sometimes. Mostly I choose to speak in english these days. It’s easier and more people understand me. Do you know any other language, Angel, dear?”

“Ma also made me learn italian as it's what she and dad grew up speakin’ but I don’t use it anymore since I moved down south. Maybe I should take up some of those fuckin’ weird french dialects ya got around here. I got the strong suspicion people been usin’ it to talk behind my back with my knowin’.” 

“I can teach you some proper french if you are ever interested, but the others, well their part of New Orleans and the culture of this city, so I do not think I could possibly teach that.”

The door to the production booth burst open and Husk popped his head out. “Quit it with the fucking chitchat. You’re about to be on again dumbass.” Smoke billowed out of his mouth as he spoke, leaving a cloud in his wake as he slammed the door shut. 

“You heard the man, get back to work, Smiles. We can’t have ya slackin’ off.” Angel grinned at him. 

“If I am slacking off, as you put it, it is because I am conversing and distracted by you.”

“And what would I be distraction’ ya? I ain’t be doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ here and lookin’ cute.” He winked. A smirk shone on his face, twisting his features into mischief. 

Alastor rolled his eyes, placing the other side of the earphones over his ears and scanning over his report. “Welcome back my dear listeners. I hope that song has everyone in the mood for celebration. I have the proposed parade route for the city’s main parade. It will start near Johnson Street and down Canal towards the river. It’ll turn onto Decatur to march along the river’s edge and shall head north, ending in a large carnival party in Jackson Square. There will also be stalls set up along Canal Street and along the Mississippi. If you plan on chartering a river boat I would recommend going out on the water as soon as possible tomorrow, as it will be packed. Now, a break from the official business, for the next half an hour, please enjoy some uninterrupted New Orleans jazz.”

A record player inside of the production booth started, hooked up to the broadcaster, until Alastor could pick out some records to play. He slipped off the earphones, placing them on his desk. Angel tilted his head to each side in the rhythm of the song. His face was still splattered with bruises. Medical tape was placed over the bridge of his nose to keep it in place, but the stuffing removed from his nostrils, so he sounded more like himself when he spoke. It was healing quickly, but not soon enough in Alastor’s opinion. When he looked at the abuse done to Angel’s delicate features and normally flawless skin, it lit a fire within his belly and an itch under his skin. A hunger usually only satiated by the ripping and slicing of flesh. A hot, fresh kill always calmed the itch in his fingers and blood. Alastor stood up from the desk and aimed for the crates of records tucked into the wall behind him. Thumbing through the records, still encased in their cardboard and hard sleeves, he hummed quietly to himself. He wondered what it would feel like to slice into Valentino, to carve his signature smile into his face, to hear him bed and scream for a quick deal while Alastor flayed him alive. He would never eat him. Something that vile and disgusting probably tasted rotten and tough to digest anyways. 

“Ya think I could pick out somethin’ to play?” Angel popped up behind him. Alastor held in the jump that threatened as he didn’t notice Angel leave the desk to appear behind him. 

“Why should I let you do that?”

“Because I’m ya friend. And ya like me.” With no response from Alastor, Angel turned up the pout. He widened his eyes, bringing his brows together, and stuck out his plump lower lip. “C’mon, Smiles, please? Just this once.”

“I do not trust your taste in music. I cannot have you ruining my reputation.”

“I won’t. Promise. And ya can get final say anyways. It’s not like I’d put on something’ without checkin’ with ya first. I’m not an asshole.” 

“Fine, my dear, you can pick out a song. And I mean a single track. I will also need to see which one you choose before you put it in the gramophone.”

“You’ve got yaself a deal.” Angel’s pout was replaced by a beaming smile. He moved in front of Alastor, aiming for a collection a bit lower on the shelves. 

Alastor’s chest warmed at the smile, but he ignored it. Along with the heat that threatened to tint his skin. He stepped back, giving Angel space to move around and look through the record library. Alastor watched Angel flit around trying to find the perfect record to play. He wore a knitted sweater in a soft blue with pants hemmed to fit tightly to his legs and obviously his behind when he bent over to examine another box of vinyls. Alastor’s face flushed as he quickly looked away, turning back to the pile of records on his desk. He took off the old one and placed it back in its sleeve before placing the next one on the track beneath the needle. He gestured to Husk that he was ready to play the next song. Husk flipped him off from the other side of the glass, but turned to the gramophone behind him. 

“Make sure that whatever you choose, Angel, that it fits with the theme.” 

“And what theme is that?”

“Well, Mardi Gras and celebration, my dear. I thought that would be obvious.” 

Angel threw an obscene gesture at Alastor from over his shoulder, “Oh shut it. ‘Course I realized that. I ain’t dumb.”

“I would never claim you to be such a thing. I know you are nothing close to an idiot. Unlike a certain somebody I know.”

Husk popped his head out of the production booth, “I can still fucking hear you even if that sign is off.” 

“I never claimed I was talking about you, Husker. I actually had someone else in mind. But if you would like me to call you an idiot, I would gladly do so. It would not be difficult to do, indeed.” 

“Fuck off and die, Al.” Husk slammed the door shut. 

“I still can’t believe ya say he’s ya friend.” 

Alastor chuckled. “There is many types of friends one can make in this world. James Husk is a very special breed of friend.”

“Drunk and an asshole?”

“Precisely!” Alastor clapped his hands together, watching as the record began to spin, playing the next song. 

“What kind of friend do ya think I am?” 

Alastor stood up, aiming for Angel. He slipped the record that Angel held out of his hands and placed it on the desk. “Dance with me.” He held out a hand for Angel to take.

“That don’t exactly answer my question?”

“Are you declining?”

“I ain’t say that.” Angel slipped his smaller hand into Alastor’s offered palm. 

Alastor spun Angel in his grip a couple of times, placing his hand on the small of his back as he dipped Angel. Angel threw her head back in the movement, anticipating Alastor’s flamboyant theatrics. He readjusted Angel to his feet. Alastor planted one hand on his waist as if it belonged there. Angel rested his free hand against Alastor’s shoulder, raising a blond brow at him. He was met with a grin instead of an answer to his silent question. Alastor led him in a simple waltz box step, keeping to the tempo of the party jazz. It was a quick step, but Angel followed his lead with ease. The beat kept their steps to pace. The horns and saxophone sang along his skin. The melodic tones of the piano and singer’s voice flitted around them. 

“You asked me what kind of friend I think of you as, Angel, dear. To that I say, I have not fully substantiated how I view you.” Alastor held Angel closer to him on instinct, noticing that the other kept a repectiful, if a little too far a distance for dancing. “What I can say, is that I want to be your friend, as previously stated, however, I think that you are a breed all your own, Angel. One that is not exactly quantifiable to me at the moment.”

“Ya really are strange, ya know that.” Angel giggled as Alastor spun him again. 

“So I have been told.” He grinned down at him, appreciating the large smile that greeted him. Even under the bruises and bandages, Angel had a magnificent smile. Not the sultry, showman smile that he gave on instinct, but the one of pure joy at even little things like this. “You are a marvelous dancer. Were you ever taught?”

“Yah, a couple of lessons here and there. My family insisted that I learn certain things. Never really understood why. It ain’t like it helped with the job or nothin’.” 

“And what kind of job was that?” 

“It ain’t important.” Angel’s smile faltered. “I’m never gettin’ involved with ‘em again. If I did, my pops would probably fuckin’ kill me anyways.”

Alastor’s brows knit together. His smile softened. “Why is that?”

“I ain’t exactly the pride and joy of any family. Let alone my own. I got away from that bullshit and I don’t ever think of going back. They don’t even know where the fuck I am, anyways. I made sure of it.” 

“Well, I would say, that they misjudged you. I do not see anything wrong with you.”

“That’s cause ya funny in the head, Smiles. No one wants a queer junkie whore for a relative. Maybe ‘cept ya. ‘Cause ya a strange guy who has even stranger hobbies.” 

Alastor chuckled, “I could say the same about you. However, I do not judge how you occupy yourself, so I do not think it fair to criticize how I spend mine.”

“Ya love it when I criticize ya. It’s what makes this fun. I ain’t afraid of ya and ya don’t gotta be anything but who ya are. And I can just be Angel.” 

“I do agree. I happen to enjoy our arrangement. I guess I could be classified as strange for wanting to spend my time with, how did you put it, a queer junkie whore. I do spend most of my time with odd women and a drunkard, so I feel like it is not out of character for me.” 

The song’s last beats petered out, causing Alastor to release Angel to place another record of the gramophone to play over the radio. A record, still in it’s sleeve, appeared below his nose. Alastor grabbed it out of Angel’s hands, eyeing the title on the record. It was an old song. A classical piece unlike the modern swing and jazz that was popular. Alastor cocked his head to the side in question. 

“It was my Ma’s favorite before she died. She would always dance with me to it. I thought, maybe ya and I could try dancin’ to it. Unless ya don’t wanna.”

“It is a wonderful song, something to break the monotony of the popular tracks. Good thinking, Angel. I would also be pleased to dance some more with you.” He placed the record on the top of the pile, planning to play it after the new song concluded. “Do you want to tell me more about your mother. She seems to be the only member of your family that you talk about with any form of love.”

“She was a good lady. The best as they come. She died when I was a brat, though, by some enemies of my pops. I barely remember what she looks like, but I remember that song.” Angel took a deep breath, collapsing into the chair opposite where Alastor normally sat to record his shows. “I’m told that she looked a lot like me. Even more like my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“And a brother. He’s a piece of shit, groomed by my pops. Molls, my sister Molly, she’s a sweetheart. And was my best friend before I ran. I haven’t talked to her since.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause if I call her up, I’m callin’ open season on myself. I ain’t fuckin’ riskin’ it. She wouldn’t want me to.”

“Is that why you go by Angel? So that your family or anyone cannot find you?”

“Partially. It’s also my stage name. I like it better than Anthony. It’s got a bit more personality and flair to it. And I ain’t anything if not fuckin’ dramatic.” 

“It suits you.” Alastor came up behind Angel, placing a hand on the top of his head, ruffling Angel’s hair. 

“Hey! Stop that!” He swatted away the hand. 

Alastor chuckled softly to himself. He turned to put the record Angel requested into the player, dropping the needle into the grooves in the vinyl. He bowed deeply at the waist. A hand held out to Angel in silent invitation. Angel stood, grabbing the hand and spinning himself into Alastor’s awaiting grip. Angel giggled when the strong grasp on his back dipped him low enough to be perpendicular with the floor. He hooked his leg around Alastor’s hip out of habit and for support. Alastor ignored the intimate way their bodies were positioned as he brought Angel back to standing. His face ended up being inches away from Angel’s. He noticed the warm pink that flushed against the paleness of Angel’s cheeks. His freckles disappeared into the sea of the blush. 

“Is this too close?” Alastor cocked his head to the side. 

“N-no.” Angel breathed. “Not used to bein’ so close to ya, is all.” Alastor moved to step back and give a bit more space in their dancing, when the hand at his shoulder stopped him. “I ain’t say that I minded it. Just surprised. Ya know, with ya hatred of proximity and bein’ touched.”

Alastor spun them to the melody of the song. His steps elegantly placed with precision and intent. “I have found that I do not mind it as much when I touch you or vice versa.”

Angel smirked, “So that means--”

“Do not even think it, Angel. Do not try anythi--” He was cut off when the hand in his own slipped out and wrapped out the back of his neck. The one at his shoulder migrated north to meet it. One of Angel’s hands played with the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. Alastor cleared his throat, holding out his empty hand. “If you wish to dance like this, where do I put this hand?” 

Angel grabbed it and placed it on the other side of his waist. “Right like that.” 

“I am not familiar with dancing like this.” 

“That’s ‘cause this is how lovers dance, Smiles.” 

It was Alastor’s face to warm, “Then why--”

“‘Cause I like dancin’ like this. And ya say ya didn’t mind when I touched ya, so I thought I would see how far ya’d let me go.” 

“I guess this is fine.” 

It was more than fine, Alastor realized. While he might have been surprised by the sudden touch, he didn’t hate it or mind it, but in fact enjoyed it. He liked the closeness he was to Angel. The nails that occasionally scraped at the base of his skull. The way that Angel carded his fingers through his hair. He knew he needed a haircut, but hadn't realized how long it had gotten until someone else had their fingers in it. Alastor relaxed into the touch. Almost melted into it, but he refused to let himself. His eyes locked onto Angel’s, taking in the dull grey in one and the molten brown in the other. The edges scrunched up because of the bright, wide smile he wore. He felt the curve of Angel’s waist in the trousers. His hands slipped a little lower to rest against his hips on instinct. He hadn’t even realized until he moved his thumb against the bones of his hip. Alastor rubbed his thumbs in a circle against the protruding bone of his pelvis. 

“Are you eating enough, my dear?”

“Why ya askin’ me that?”

“No reason. You just seem a little bit on the slender side, so I want to make sure that you are getting enough nutrition.” 

“Sometimes I don’t get the time to eat as much as I should when I’m workin’, but it’s not like I do it on purpose.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

Angel tilted his head to the side. A smirk played on his mouth. “Ya askin’ me out on a date?”

“All I am doing is asking for you to accompany me for a meal. I thought since you mentioned that you did not wish to be alone that you would not mind an invitation to dinner tonight. Of course, if you already have plans, I would understand.” 

“Cherry and I got plans tonight, but how ‘bout a raincheck? As long as ya promise not to feed me any of that meat from ya icebox in the basement.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Mardi Gras.”

“I know. Are you free?”

Angel threw his head back and laughed. “Ya know that tomorrow is the biggest party to hit New Orleans since New Years. And ya askin’ me out on a fuckin’ date for it?”

“What’s so funny about it?”

“Nothin’, Smiles. Ya just a funny guy. Sure, I’ll take ya up on tomorrow. Val’s not makin’ me work ‘cause of my face, so I have the day free. But there’s one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“Ya buyin’.” 

“I can do that. Anything else you request me to do?”

Angel shook his head. “I trust ya to make it somewhat fun. So, all ya gotta do is let me know when ya pickin’ me up.” 

Alastor thought for a moment, running through the possibilities of the day he could plan for Angel. A way of apologizing for the mess he caused at the party the past weekend. And to appease the guilt in his chest when he looked at the bruises and bandages on his face. 

“I will pick you up at three. We will make an afternoon of it. Dress in your best Mardi Gras finery.”

“I can do that. Anythin’ for ya, Smiles.” 

“Then it is a date.”

“Ha! I got ya to admit that it was a date.”

“It is just an expression, my dear. Nothing more. Do not read too much into it.” 

“I’m gonna read everything into it. No gettin’ out of this fuckin’ date now.” Angel laughed again, poking Alastor on the front of the nose. “I’ve got you trapped, Al, turning ya into a real Strawberry Pimp.”

“Please. I thought you were going to drop that dreadful nickname.” He sighed. “Also I do not plan on ‘getting out of’ it as you said. I asked you, remember. Do not tell me you forgot already. Maybe you have more brain damage than I thought.” Alastor ruffled his hair again. 

“Hey! I ain’t got any fuckin’ brain damage.”

“It must be hard to tell.” 

“Fuck you. Maybe Husk is right. Ya a fuckin’ asshole.” 

“You still agreed to go out with me tomorrow. I do hope you are not trying to raincheck on mr two days in a row.” 

“Ah, shut up.” Angel scowled. 

Alastor let Angel go from their dance, stepping away. He approached his desk and took a seat before the microphone. The last notes of the song came to an end. The record slowly stopped in its repetitive rotations. He placed the earphones over his head, letting one side dangle off the cusp of his ear. The ‘ON AIR’ light perked back on as Alastor cleared his throat. 

“Welcome back. I am your host Alastor--” Alastro started when his thoughts were interrupted by the soft kiss on his cheek. 

“See ya tomorrow, Smiles.” Angel whispered in his ear before ducking out the door.

“Excuse me. As I was saying, I am your host Alastor Leveau. I would like to welcome back all the listeners, new and old, to my radio show.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting to share this chapter for a long time. It's one of my favorite moments between the boys. I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I do. Please share your thoughts with comments and kudos because they make me feel good every time I read them. Love the support and appreciation for this story that I get from everyone! Enjoy my lovelies!
> 
> (And for those who are wondering, Mardi Gras colors each mean something, green-faith, gold-power, purple-justice, I didn't make that up, it's actual Mardi Gras tradition)

The sun shone high in the afternoon sky. Not a cloud of sight to obscure the brilliant, endless blue of the horizon. The French Quarter was already stuffed to the brim with tourists and native New Orleanians. There wasn't space to breathe without someone else immediately taking the leftover oxygen in his breath. The edges of the streets packed with stalls and stands that sold everything from food on skewers, to stuffed animals, to masks and beads that were common for Mardi Gras. But Alastor barely cared as he waited out on the street outside of Angel’s apartment building. He took a deep breath of his cigarette, trying to calm the rapid beat of his heart and the thrumming of his pulse in ears. A weight settled into his stomach, churning it until he was nauseous. He finished off the cigarette, tossing the butt to the ground, to stomp it out under his boot heel. 

Alastor took a deep breath of the crisp, warm spring air, pulling the sleeves of his suit jacket past his wrists. He tapped gloved hands against the side of his thigh. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Alastor planned to arrive a little early, but at this point it was almost half past three and Angel had yet to show his face. 

A part of Alastor wondered if Angel had changed his mind; that maybe he wanted to spend the day with the friends he’d known for longer than the serial killer radio host that he happened to stalk once upon a time. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. Alastor knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along with, even at the best of times. Especially once people found out about his night habits. Most who found it didn’t survive much longer, as he usually planned on cutting them up to begin with and he isn’t the time to deviate from a plan. He only hoped that Angel would have informed him otherwise. Not just leave him stranded on the sidewalk outside his apartment. 

Another part of Alastor worried that Valentino had decided to call Angel into work or even worse, decided to take some of his frustration out on his employee. It seemed to be a common occurrence for Valentino. He had the bad habit of taking any of his negative emotions out on those he deemed he owned. That is what Rosie told him. Anyone friendly with Vox, he wouldn’t call a decent person in this lifetime or the next. Alastor wished that Rosie let him hit Valentino at the party. He wished she hadn’t gotten in the way of his anger and desire to kill the gang leader and pimp. He would feel that anger rise up to a burning feeling in his chest when he thought of the possibility of Valentino hurting Angel again. His smile tightened into a tortuous grin. 

“Hey, Smiles, sorry it took me a bit longer than I thought to get ready.” Angel said over the creaking of the iron gate. “It takes a long ass time to get myself lookin’ this fuckin’ good.” 

Alastor’s smile relaxed into one of joy when he saw Angel close the gate behind him. He was stunned out of speech when he caught sight of Angel. He had seen Angel in many forms, ranging from severely masculine to flamboyantly feminine to everything in between, but this look had to be his favorite so far because he looked so comfortable in his own skin. He wore a white and pink striped suit jacket with a black bow tie around his slender neck, tight leather shorts that seemed shorter than bloomers, and a thick black garter that disappeared into the tops of his tall black boots. His hair trimmed to his nape and slicked back out of his face. A white fedora with a black bow placed over top. Most of the bruises on his face were covered in foundation to be almost non-apparent. His mismatched eyes lined in kohl, cheeks dusted with rouge, and his lips painted a soft blush. Pink gloves went up to his elbows beneath the rolled up sleeves of the suit jacket. 

“Gay boy got ya tongue there, Smiles.” Angel leaned in close, but still kept enough distance not to touch Alastor. 

“You look absolutely stunning, my darling Angel.” 

The confident smirk he wore was replaced with a blush that tinted the tops of his ears and his delicate cheekbones. “I’m glad ya like it, I guess. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been worth takin’ so fuckin’ long.”

“I had nowhere else to be this evening.” Alastor’s grin spread. “It gave me time to run through my plans for this afternoon and evening, again. I also believe that the phrase is, ‘cat got your tongue’.”

“That ain’t as much fun.” Angel raised his brows, returning with a devilish grin. “Trust me on that.” 

“I will take your word on it.” He started down the sidewalk. Angel quickly caught up to walk alongside him. Alastro hummed along to the music he heard spilling out of restaurants, cafes, barber shops, and retail shops along the streets of the French Quarter. 

“So, where ya takin’ me?”

Alastor turned a corner, aiming for a small cafe with outdoor patio seating pulled out for the holiday spectacle that was to come in the evening. Luckily, it was a warm day, and projected to be an unusually warm night, so that most of the carnival goers could enjoy themselves without heavy jackets or the night’s chill clinging to them. 

“I thought we could stop and grab something to drink and snack on because dinner will not be until later in the evening and we cannot go with you starving away anytime soon.” Alastor pulled out the metal woven chair for Angel to take a seat before disappearing inside the cafe. He approached the counter and grabbed the attention of the young man behind it. “I would like two cups of cafe au lait, please. Along with an order of beignets for my companion and myself.” 

“Your friend is dressed a bit strangely, don’t you think?” The attendant said as he peaked around Alastor. 

“No, I do not think so.” Alastor placed the change for the price of the coffee’s and pastries on the counter. His smile sharpened. The itch beneath his skin that came with a desire for slighter started to become more and more apparent, but he ignored it in favor of spending the evening with Angel. He wasn’t in the mood to cause trouble or death tonight. “I think it best if you keep your opinions to yourself. You would not want to ruin potential business. Please be sure to bring out some sugar with the drinks. I think my companion would appreciate it.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

“Thank you.” At least Alastor had someone in mind should the itch come at a more favorable time. 

Alastor was about to return to Angel when the attendant spoke up. “You two are just friends right? Not anything strange or queer about you, right?”

“And what would you mean by that?” 

“Just that, he’s dressed weird, so I thought, maybe he might be one of those, you know, homosexuals.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, as if afraid of anyone hearing him say such a word. 

“You would have to ask him. However, I would recommend that you do not because I do not want you ending up in the gutter where trash like you belong.” Alastor stalked to the table, taking a deep breath to calm his anger before taking a seat across from Angel. 

“What took ya so long? Also did ya get me anything? Ya never asked what I wanted.”

“I made an educated assumption on what you might enjoy. Hopefully it turns out to be the correct one. It took longer than I would have hoped, as it seemed that the boy behind that counter had some questions about you and your lifestyle, especially when it came to your wardrobe.” 

“And what did ya tell him.”

“To ask you himself, of course, but that if he did he might be taken out with the garbage that he is.” 

Angel broke into a laugh, “Really, Smiles, ya threatened some kid because he was curious ‘bout me. Ya ain’t need to do that.”

“I know, but it only seemed right as he seemed to have some negative views when it pertains to you and how you conduct your life. I was not about to stand by and let him say something he should not to you.” 

“Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. Most people down here and back in New York all thought the same fuckin’ things and weren’t afriad to scream it at me or beat it into me. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, I am making it a point that those incidents shall be the last of them.” 

A grin grew on Angel’s face, pinching up the edges of his eyes. “That’s some task to take on, Smiles. Sure ya can keep up with the demand?”

“What else is a friend for?” Even as the word escaped Alastor’s tongue, something seemed off about it. But that is what he was to Angel. A friend. Just like Husk or Niffty or Rosie or even Charlotte. But Angel felt different from them. It was a feeling he had for weeks, but no clue how to place it or what to call it. 

“Here’s your cafe au lait and the beignets you ordered.” A woman placed the cups of coffee and the fluffy pastries onto the small table between them. She looked between Angel and Alastor, but held her tongue. “Please enjoy.” 

Alastor took a deep inhale, sniffing the bitter hickory smoked coffee cut through with milk. Angel grabbed at the bowl filled with cane sugar, pouring a couple of spoonfuls into the drink until Alastor was certain he would be sick from the amount of sugar he dropped in the small mug. 

“Want some?” Angel held up the ceramic sugar bowl.

Alastor held up a hand, “There is plenty of sugar on the beignets. I do not think I could survive anymore than that.”

“Ya get sugar highs? What’re ya? A fuckin’ child?”

“Some people prefer to actually be able to taste their coffee, not coffee flavored sugar milk. It seems I am the former, and you, my dear, are the latter.” He grabbed one of the beignets from the plate between them, dusting off some of the powdered sugar that hadn’t melted onto the pastry. Alastor took a bite. It threatened to burn his tongue when hot steam escaped the bounds of the beignets. He finished it off. 

Angel looked up from his coffee at him. He put a fist to his mouth, but the laughter that spilled out of him was heard over the poor attempt at hiding it. 

“What is it?” 

“Oh, it’s nothin’, Smiles. I swear.” Angel said around his giggles. “It’s just that, it looks like ya finished snortin’ a line of cocaine.” 

Alastor pressed the napkin to his mouth to wipe off the powdered sugar. “I do not think that is nothing. I hope you did not plan on letting me walk around like that.” 

“The thought crossed my mind, I ain’t gonna lie. It would’ve been fuckin’ hilarious.” He plopped one of the hot beignets in his mouth, opening and closing his mouth like a fish to let out the hot steam. Alastor chuckled over the brim of his coffee mug. Angel gave Alastor the finger in response before biting into another beignet. 

“You are full of mischief, Angel.”

Angel tossed his balled up napkin at Alastor. “I ain’t doin’ jack shit, Smiles.” 

Alastor slotted his fingers together, resting his head on the bridge it made. He tilted his head to the side as he watched Angel fan his mouth. Powdered sugar dusted the edges of his smile and speckled his cheeks that the tip of his nose. Alastor sat back up, reaching out to Angel with his thumb to wipe the bit of sugar off his lower lip. Angel stiffened for a moment beneath his touch, startled, but it was enough for Alastor to pull his hand back. 

“I apologize. I should have asked before I touched you. I did not mean to intrude your personal space.” 

“I ain’t mind. Ya don’t got anythin’ to worry about. I was just surprised.” Angel grabbed another napkin to wipe his face. “But if ya wanna touch me, all ya gotta do is let me know, and I guarantee, ya can touch me anywhere.” He purred the last sentence. 

“Ha! I do not think that is necessary.” Alastor’s gaze darted away from Angel as he felt heat tint his face. 

Angel snickered. “I know, Smiles. I’m fuckin’ with ya. What’s the plan for the rest of the afternoon, before this promised dinner.”

“I was thinking that we could walk among the stalls and enjoy the carnival before the parade. Sound like something you would enjoy?” He held out a hand for Angel. 

Angel quickly took a hold of it. “Anythin’ with ya sounds fun to me.” 

Alastor placed Angel’s hand on the crook of his elbow as he led him away from the cafe and in the direction of Canal Street, where most of the stands had been placed along the main parade route. Banners strung over their heads in green, gold, and purple. Lanterns that would be lit when the sun set hung from the edge of buildings and the tents. 

Angel escaped Alastor’s grip, eyeing something in one of the stalls. Alastor strode up to him. Angel picked around a booth stacked to the brim with dresses, the common flapper dresses, with their boxy, low cut waist, and the head stitched beading. They came in all colors that he could possibly think of. Angel scanned through the rows of lace, cotton, bead, and satin. Back in the corner, a specific dress caught Alastor’s eye. He walked up to the darkened corner where it sat on a forgotten mannequin. An ivory dress covered in sheer beadwork. It had a high neckline like a pearl necklace and layered beadwork on the skirt that reminded Alastor of a crystal chandelier. 

“See somethin’ ya like, Smiles?”

“Not for myself.” Alastor stepped to the side to show the dress to Angel. “I thought it would look magnificent on you.” 

“It’s gorgeous.” He ran his hands carefully over the beadwork and the sharp points that made up the edge of the skirt. He turned over the tag. The grin on his face fell to a look of disappointment, but Angel quickly brought the smile back. “Eh, I heard flapper is goin’ outta style. I don’t need anotha’ one.”

Angel ducked back along the rows of dresses, but Alastor didn’t follow. Instead, he grabbed the attention of the shopkeep that sat in the corner, focused on sewing some beads onto another dress. She was an older woman. Black face heavily lined from years of smiling, or scowling, Alastor couldn’t be certain, with grey tied into a bun at the nape of her neck. 

“I would like to purchase a dress.”

“Which one?” Her words were thick, heavily accented. 

“The one on the mannequin there, if you would not mind.” 

She huffed, looking Alastor up and down. “Got a pretty woman you need to impress?”

Alastor looked over his shoulder at Angel, who had his attention turned to a burgundy dress. “You could say that. It is something along those lines, madam.” 

She began to unlace the back of the dress from the mannequin, but her gaze followed Alastors as he looked back at Angel. The scowl on her face softened as she turned her attention back to Alastor. 

“You seem like a good one.” She said, tucking the dress into a palette of tissue paper, folding it up gently before placing it into an ivory box. Alastor handed her the amount for the dress and she gave him the box along with his change. “Be safe now.”

“Thank you, madam.” 

“He’ll love it.”

Alastor almost missed it, but he heard her clearly. He opened his mouth ready for a battle again like in the cafe, but instead he was met with an honest, open gaze and a soft grin. “Thank you, again. I know he will. Hopefully it will not be too much.” 

“A pretty dress makes everyone happy.” 

“Have a good Mardi Gras.” 

She gave a curt nod before returning to her work. Alastor tucked the box behind his back. He leaned over the opposite edge of the rack, catching Angel’s attention. 

“What took ya so long? Ya chattin’ up the old broad?”

“Why, yes. She was very accommodating and kind. However, you should have a little more respect for your elders, Angel. She had respect for me and for you.” 

Angel rose a brow. “Whatcha hidin’ behind ya back?”

“What makes you think that I am hiding something?”

“‘Cause ya look like you're up to somethin’. I can see it in your eyes. It’s different than your usual up to somethin’ look, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

“Such crude use of language all the time.” Angel stuck out his tongue. Alastor chuckled, pulling out the box. “For you, my dear. I thought you could change later and wear it for dinner.”

Angel took the box with a hesitant hand. A smile spread on his face as he opened the lid before it was replaced with a look Alastor didn’t recognize. Angel quickly closed the box and handed it back to Alastor. 

“I can’t take it. It’s way too pricey. There’s no way I can pay ya back for it in this lifetime.”

“It is a gift. I do not expect you to pay me back.” 

“I can’t take it.” 

Alastor cocked his head to the side. “I thought you liked it?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the prettiest dresses I’ve seen, but I ain’t usin’ ya for your money, Smiles. Ya didn’t have to get me this.” 

“But I wanted to. It made you happy and I want you to be happy. I also thought it would look beautiful on you.” 

“But--” Angel was interrupted when the old woman came behind the corner to whack him in the back of the head with the end of her cane. “Shit. What the fuck?”

“Stop being stupid and take the gift this wonderful young man got you, son. If I had a suiter like him when I was your age, I wouldn’t pass it up. Now take it back and apologize.” She gestured for Alastor to hold out the box again. “I’m waiting, son. Accept it graciously and thank him.” 

Angel hesitantly took back the box. “Thanks, Smiles.” 

“There was no need for you to get involved, madam, please rest and take a seat.” Alastor wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders and turned her to the back of the tent and her chair. 

She waved her cane in Angel’s face before letting Alastor lead her back to her sewing station. “Told you. He’s a good one. Don’t push him away.” She shouted over her shoulder. 

Alastor returned back to Angel. “I did not anticipate that. However, if you really do not want the dress, I can return it to her, but I do not think that she is in the mood for that.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s just that I ain’t used to someone gettin’ me somethin’ nice like this for no other reason than I would like it.”

“Well, I think that is an incorrect assumption about the situation. I still have my own selfish motivation for the gift. I did not buy it only because you would like it. I also bought it because I wanted to see you in it.” 

Angel grinned up at Alastor at that. The rouge on his face accentuated by the blush underneath the heavy application of foundation. Alastor smiled back at him. His heart leapt to his throat when Angel slipped his arm into Alastor’s own. He still wasn’t used to the closeness that Angel seemed to thrive in, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying this small bit of contact without any distaste in his mouth or desire to shake the touch off. Angel led them out of the dress shop. The box tucked under his other arm. They wandered among many different stalls. Alastor refused to buy anything for himself, but that didn’t stop him from buying silk bicep length gloves, ivory kitten heels, and the pearl necklace and matching bracelet that he saw catch Angel’s gaze. They all went with the dress Alastor already bought him, so he assumed he would complete the outfit. Angel seemed to want to protest, but soon found it didn’t matter what he said, Alastor was intent on spending on him. It’s not like Alastor needed as much money as he had. His own life expenses were relatively inexpensive, and most of his food he acquired on his own, either in hunting or the small garden he kept in the warmer months. He had spent years saving and it felt good to spend it on something and someone that he wanted to. 

The sun dipped lower in the sky as they finished looking through a stand that caught Alastor’s gaze instead of Angels. It was as if a bookstore had taken a slice of itself and planted it onto one of the corners of Canal Street. In the corner, he found original copies of one of his favorites. Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. He thumbed through the novel as Angel popped over his shoulder and slipped the book out of Alastor’s hand. 

“Where are you going with that?” Alastor said as he tailed after Angel. 

“Ya’ve bought me a bunch of stuff tonight, so I wanna get ya somethin’ ya want. And don’t try sayin’ nothin’ I know ya want it. Even Mista’ Smiles has different types of smiles and I can read ya as easily as ya read these books.”

“Fine. Fine. I will not stop you.” 

“Good. I’ll take this please.” The cashier traded Angel the book in exchange for some cash. He handed the book back to Alastor. “It might not even be close to how much ya spent on me, but I still wanted to get ya somethin’.” 

“Thank you, my darling Angel.” He checked his pocket watch. “The parade should start soon. Would you like to watch it?”

“With ya, absolutely.” 

They found a spot by the curb, looking down the wide street. Alastor took up the shopping bags before Angel could protest. They noticed the big band, the sounds of drums, trumpets, marching feet, and cheering before any float made its way into their field of vision. Crowds surged around them accompanied by an explosion of cheers and yells when the first group of baton twirlers and dancers arrived in sight along with the large parade floats. Angel was shoved to the side into Alastor. Alastor grabbed him by the elbows, keeping him upright. It took him a moment to notice how close they were. Bodies practically flush against each other. Alastor caught Angel’s gaze before quickly looking away as he felt Angel regain his footing and take a step back, but not far enough to leave Alastor’s personal space bubble. When everything calmed down for a moment, Alastor looked down at Angel, whose gaze was enraptured by the dancers, the music, and most noticeably the grandiose floats. His smile grew as he watched Angel enjoy the parade. He wasn’t usually one for the big spectacle and cramped events, but with Angel it didn’t feel half as bad. It was as if his excitement and enjoyment of the event transferred into Alastor. 

Alastor looked away from Angel and towards the floats. They were dressed in all colors imaginable as they meandered down the street. Even Angel took up cheering along with everyone else as the main float came by. A woman dressed up in a princess gown with a tiara placed in a bushel of blond hair atop of her head was waving towards the audience. It took Alastor a moment until he recognized the girl and the brunette that slinked in the shadows of the float. Of course Lucifer would have his daughter crowned the Princess of Mardi Gras. It makes him into a king. It fit his persona and fed well into his prideful control he had over the city. Alastor chuckled to himself, waving up to Charlie even if he knew she probably wouldn’t see him in the crowd, or expect him to be there for that matter. 

The people on the float threw beads and candy into the audience that swelled around them. Angel reached into the air, catching a couple strands as they descended upon the crowd. He looked at his hands and held the beaded necklaces up to the sky. One green and two gold. Angel was lucky to have caught any, so when he held out one of the gold ones to Alastor, Alastor was hesitant to take it. Angel didn’t take his hesitance as a no. Instead stood on his toes to slip the cheap beaded necklace around his neck. 

“There ya go. At least now ya look like ya actually like Mardi Gras.” Angel shouted over the flurry of the crowd.

“I never said I did not like the holiday.” Alastor leaned down to talk in his ear. 

“Then why didn’t ya make any other plans before askin’ me to join ya?”

Alastor’s smile slipped into a smirk before he could help it. “Did you ever think that I prefer to have your company?” 

Another blush tinted Angel’s cheeks as he quickly turned away to focus on the retreating end of the parade. He rubbed the beaded necklace around his neck, twirling them around with his finger tips. Alastor focused more on Angel than he did on the end of the parade. The crowd surged into the empty space that followed the parade like water to an empty stream. 

Alastor leaned in close to Angel’s ear and said, “Follow me, my dear. I think it may be time for some dinner. As it seems we have a reservation to get to.” 

He slipped his arm into Angel’s naturally, as if it belonged there, shifting the bags into the crook of his elbow on his free arm. Angel nodded and moved quickly with Alastors assured steps. They ducked through the crowds and to smaller streets to avoid the rest of the parade and sightseers until they ended up along the river where the parade was destined to turn onto. About a hundred or more river boats filled the Mississippi until there was just enough space for the boats to leave the harbor and enter the gaping river. 

“Where are we even goin’, Al? There ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ here but boats and the parade is ‘bout to catch up with us.” 

“What makes you so sure that our destination is not a boat, hmm?”

“‘Cause like ya said, ya’d better get a reservation for one and get on the water fast or it won’t even matter.” 

“Good thing I know the right people.” Alastor stopped at one of the docked river boats. 

Angel’s jaw dropped at the sight. It was one of the smaller river boats, white with red detailing and a red, steam powered, paddle at the tail end up it. It was still large enough for multiple guests, a kitchen, dining room, and living quarters aside from the captains room and engine room. With two floors, not counting the engine room in the sub-basement of the boat, and even seating on the roof of the paddle boat, the thing seemed massive. The observation decks spanned most of the ship, furnished with seats and tables by the looks of it. 

“Who the fuck ya know that can scronge this up in a fuckin’ day?” Angel asked as he was led aboard the boat by the jutted out walking plank. 

“Who else do you think, pet?” Rosie waved down at them from the ship’s rail. Her other hand tucked above her head to keep the wide brimmed hat from flying off in a gust of wind. 

Alastor led Angel up a set of red, metal spiral stairs to the second floor of the boat. It creaked and rocked beneath them to the swaying current of the river and the motion of other boats. Alastor kept his knees slightly bent and relaxed to keep with the motion of the boat and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the first time for motion sickness. 

“You and Alastor can thank me later.” Rosie turned from her perch on the rail to greet them. “When Alastor called me up last night to request a river boat from me, to say I was surprised as the reasoning would be an understatement. Do not worry your precious little heads, I won’t be staying long. Only long enough to make sure my two guests of honor boarded safely. Alastor, you are cutting it close, you know, I had to tell the captain multiple times that you would be here. He was getting antsy.” 

“I do apologize, Rosie, dear. I decided to watch the parade for longer than I anticipated.”

“You watched the parade. I guess tonight is the first time for many things. I will inform the captain of your arrival and get out of your hair. You know how I hate to intrude on your affairs, Alastor.”

“Have a wonderful evening, my dear. And again, I appreciate you accommodating my request on such short notice.” 

“Remember, you owe me what you promised.”

“Trust me. I have not forgotten what I promised in exchange.”

Rosie twirled a parasol, opening it as she headed down the metal staircase and towards the heart of the boat, calling out behind her, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Alastor. That also applies to you, little pet.” 

“Al, I can’t believe ya got all this. But whatcha promise Rosie in return? She ain’t the type to do stuff for cheap.” 

“Nothing important right down, darling. How about you go get changed and I will make sure that evening is set up. Meet me on the observation section of the roof when you are ready.” 

“Fine. I’ll see ya up there.” Angel huffed. “But ya gonna tell me whatcha promised Rosie when I get back, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” 

He handed Angel the bags that contained his new clothes and shoes and ushered him inside to one of the bathrooms. Alastor followed the second set of stairs into the smaller, accessible part of the roof made specifically for guests to observe the sky and the tops of some of the other smaller boats. His grin grew as he saw his request displayed before him. The observation deck was lined with red painted metal rails to keep passengers from tipping overboard, either by drunkenness, foolishness, or recklessness. It was small and private with a small table bolted into the ground and two chairs accompanying it. Two place settings were set with a small vase with a rose set into it and two candles lit in the middle. A bottle of red wine placed in a bucket of ice, ready to be served in the crystal glasses placed at each setting. A small radio accented the table decor, letting out a few strings of soft jazz.

The sun hovered on the horizon line, lounging where the river met the sky when Angel came up to meet him. Alastor was right that the dress would look magnificently on Angel, but still felt his eyes lock on to him and his mouth open slightly in surprise. The dress fit him perfectly with the sharp cut and knife shaped hem that ended at his knees. The pearl necklace glowed softly against his freckled skin, especially beneath the light of the gold string lights placed along the safety rails, along the gold and green beads strung around his collar. His heels clacked against the metal roof as he walked towards Alastor, pulling the silk gloved on past his elbows. Angel looked around at the table and the lights and Alastor and back again. 

“For a guy I’ve never known to court anyone, ya do a fan-fuckin’-tastic job at it.”

“Does that mean you like it?” 

Angel’s smile widened as he stepped closer to Alastor, “It’s fuckin’ amazin’, Smiles. I don’t think anyone’s ever done anythin’ like this for me.”

“Come. Take a seat.” Alastor pulled his chair out for Angel. “It is the least you deserve. You said I was to buy, so I thought I would make it a little interesting so that you would at least not be lacking in entertainment. By the way, the dress and everything looks wonderful on you.”

“I’m glad ya think so, since ya bought it.” Angel watched him as Alastor poured them each a glass of the dark red wine. “But ya ain’t have to go through all this. Really. A simple date would’ve been fine. I didn’t expect to be wined and dined in the middle of Mississippi this evenin’.”

Alastor swirled his glass of wine, taking a light sip. “I thought I would have fun with it.”

“I can see that.” Angel giggled as the waterwheel at the back of the boat began to move and steam was pushed from the vents to the sides of the boat. 

It lurched forward, taking Alastor and Angel along with it, as it made its way through the crowds of sightseeing, tourist boats and the smaller private ones. The one Rosie acquired for them seemed to be in between those types in size. 

“So, whatcha promise Rosie for all this?”

“Some help with a certain problem of hers. I hate to say it, but she swore me to secrecy. She told me I was not allowed to discuss it with you, even, as she put it, ‘if he pouts and begs like a little puppy’.”

“She doesn’t like me much, does she?”

“No no. I think she is more intrigued by this whole notion. I do not think it has anything to do with you personally.” 

“Ever since that night at the party, she keeps calling me ‘pet’. I don’t get it.” 

“It is because she thinks you to be Valentino’s lap dog or his pet.” Alastor said matter-of-factly, taking another sip of his wine. “I would happen to disagree with that assessment.” 

“And what do ya think I am?”

“You are Angel. Nothing more. Nothing less. I would not think that would be such a hard concept to understand, but once Angel has something in her mind, she is unlikely to be persuaded otherwise.” 

Angel leaned back in his chair, drinking down the glass of wine. “I heard somethin’ ‘bout dinner and that’s what I thought I was dragged all the way up here to enjoy, so ya got a plan for that too, Smiles?”

“Why, of course. Rosie chose this boat specifically because it also houses a kitchen.” Alastor pulled out his pocket watch. “I do believe that dinner should be served shortly.”

“It ain’t anythin’ that you or Rosie cooked up, right? ‘Cause I might like ya, but I ain’t eatin’ your favorite food anytime soon.” 

“Oh, do not be worried. It is nothing like that. It so happened that I requested one of my favorite dishes. One I hope that you happen to enjoy as well.”

“Ya like to be in control, huh, orderin’ my food for me and buyin’ me things. People might get the wrong impression outta what this is.”

“And what impression might that be?”

“That we might be more than friends.” 

“Why would you propose that?” 

“Well,” Angel leaned forward, propped his head to the side on a gloved hand. “I don’t get the impression that this is the type of things ya would end up doin’ with Rosie, or Husk, or Niffty, or any of your other friends, so ya can’t stop a guy from bein’ curious whatcha intentions might be.” 

“I guess, it felt right. This felt like something entertaining to do with someone that entertains me to great ends. I do not think it is anything other than that.”

Angel’s face seemed to drop for a moment, causing Alastor to wonder if he did or said something to offend him, but before he could, his smile returned along with the sounds of footsteps up the metal staircase. A man dressed in a waiter’s attire, with an apron at his waist and a hand towel across his forearm, carried a tray with two covered dishes atop it. He set one in front of Alastor and the other in front of Angel before bowing his head and returning down the stairs. 

Angel peeled off the silver dome atop his plate. His grin grew as he took sight of the dish. “This looks and smell fuckin’ amazin’. What is it?”

“Crawfish etouffee. A classic New Orleans dish to have during Fat Tuesday. I hope you enjoy it, my dear.”

Angel nodded quickly before digging into the dish. Alastor followed suit, but without the same ravenous disregard for manners that seemed to equate Angel. Conversation was little and far between as they ate, simply enjoying the food, the waning sunset, the saxophone solo that played through the radio, and the comfortable silence that flowed between the two of them. Before they could finish their main course, and nearly empty of the bottle of wine, the waiter returned with a fresh bottle and a small round cake in his hand. He softly set the cake between them, exchanging the empty bottle of wine for the new one and quickly disappeared back downstairs. The cake looked like a miniature bundt cake, drizzled in glaze and dusted with gold, purple, and green sugar.

“What’s that?” Angel asked around a mouthful of the thick stew and rice. “I thought ya ain’t like sweet things that much.”

Alastor wiped his mouth quickly with his napkin, “It is a king cake. One cannot do Mardi Gras without it. So, even I have been known to indulge in one, but I have not celebrated Mardi Gras too often in the past few years. Inside the cake, there is supposed to be a figurine of baby Jesus and whoever gets in into their slice is supposed to have a stroke of good luck. Of course it is also customary for those who have the good fortune to make or buy the cake for next year's celebrations.” 

“It looks delicious, just like this crawfish fancy french soundin’ word is.” 

“How long have you lived in New Orleans? You mentioned that you grew up in New York, but never mentioned how long you have lived down here.” 

“Ya askin’ ‘cause I ain’t learned all your fancy soundin’ french words? It’s goin’ on four years now. I got down here right before I turned sixteen.”

“It must have been tough to be all alone in a new place when you were still so young.”

“Hey! I’m still young. Ya the old man between us. And I know your birthday, Niffty told me, so I know how old ya are too.” 

Alastor chuckled softly, “You are correct about that. Would you like me to cut you a piece of the cake.” 

“Sure, Smiles. And cut me a big one, right ‘bout there.” Angel pointed to a section with green and gold sugar. “I’m hopin’ to get the baby Jesus. I ain’t mind havin’ a little bit more good luck on my side.” 

Alastor cut him the piece he wanted, placing it on a small ceramic plate that came with the cake and cut himself one that was covered in gold and purple sugar that was about half the size of Angel’s slice. Angel dug into the cake with the same vigor as he did the crawfish etouffee. Alastor picked at his piece, eating the parts not slathered in sugar and glaze. Alastor put his fork into the slice and felt it hit something harder than the fluffy cake. He pulled it away to show the small Jesus figurine hidden within. Angel rose a brow, tilting his head to get a better look at Alastor’s plate. His face only lit up by the candlelight, tea string lights and the half moon that shone down on them.

“Aw, damn, I was really lookin’ forward to the possibility of gettin’ that.”

“You did not even realize it was something that existed until a moment ago.” 

“Eh,” Angel shrugged. “I like stupid shit like that. I think it’s fun.”

“Here.” Alastor scooped up the figurine with his fork and transported it onto Angel’s plate. “I do not need any extra luck. I feel plenty lucky as it is.” 

Angel grinned as he played with the small baby figurine. “He looks kinda fucked up, not gonna lie. What’s got you feelin’ so lucky, Smiles?”

“That I have gotten the opportunity to enjoy Mardi Gras with you, darling.” Alastor’s smile softened to one truly genuine and content. “I have not had such an opportunity to really enjoy it since my mother died. So, I have to thank you, Angel, you gave me the opportunity to create more wonderful memories on such a festive holiday.”

“Shit, Alastor, ya say some real cheesy shit, ya know that?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Angel opened his mouth as if to say something else but it was cut off by the thunderous rumbling of the beginnings of the fireworks. 

Angel jumped out of his chair to rush to the rail, gaze enraptured by the explosion of sound and colors in the night sky. Alastor felt each blast of the fireworks ricochet in his chest and pound against his ear drums. He tucked his chair in to join Angel against the rail. Soon his attention was pulled away from the light show to Angel’s face. Alastor found himself entranced by the way the fireworks played against his pale skin and mismatched eyes widened to watch them. Angel was a beautiful creature, he decided, like a flower that could grow in the worst circumstances and continue to shine among the wilted buds and the weeds. Someone who deserted the world and who Alastor knew could take it in his grasp if he truly desired to. Angel turned to face Alastor, about to say something as he pointed into the sky, but the words seemed to have died on his tongue or overshadowed by the boom of the exploding fireworks for Alastor to hear him. 

Alastor gently cupped Angel’s face, rubbed his thumbs against cheekbones, careful not to agitate the bruises. His gaze dropped from Angel’s widened eyes to the curve of his mouth. Alastor closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead against Angel’s as he leaned in close enough to touch the tips of their noses together. Their breath mingled between them as the grand finale of the fireworks show exploded over their heads.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! It was a little difficult for me to write, plus uni and work, I haven't had as much time to work on it, sadly. But I love writing this and sharing it with all of you because you are all so kind! I love the comments and support so much. It's really helped me though some of the hurdles with this story.

Anthony’s breath caught in his throat as the fireworks exploded over his head. He was about to say something about the view and the lights show, but all those thoughts and comments died on the tip of his tongue as he turned to face Alastor. Alastor gave him a look like he wasn’t familiar with. His heart raced inside his sternum when Alastor cupped his face. He quickly realized that Alastor took off his gloves, so that he touched Anthony with skin to skin contact. His large hands were warm and soft, delicate as they held his face, tilting it up to face him. Alastor pressed his forehead against Anthony’s. His mouth only a mere moment away from Anthony’s slightly parted lips. Anthony held his breath as he felt Alastor tuck his nose against his nose. He could barely hear his own rapid palpitations in his chest over the boom of the fireworks.

“May I?” Alastor murmured softly. 

Anthony smirked, “May ya what, Smiles?” Alastor started to step away, hands pulling away from Anthony’s face as if he lost his nerve, but Anthony grabbed him by the front of his suit collar and kept him from retreating. “Yes, Alastor. Ya can.” He said, more seriously, dropping the flirtatious teasing he adopted out of instinct. 

When Alastor didn’t move, Anthony took things into his own hands and stood up on his toes, tilting his head to the side to press his mouth softly against Alastor’s awaiting lips. It was a small peck. So unlike all the kisses Anthony was used to that he forget how it felt to kiss someone without it being a precursor to sex. Anthony dropped back to his normal stance as Alastor didn’t move, but before he could step away from the radio host, Alastor cupped his cheek and underneath his chin, tilting his face to meet Alastor’s mouth. It was still soft and unsure, as if Alastor had no clue how to exactly move his lips against Anthony or that he wanted to be sure not to hurt him. Anthony began to take the lead in the kiss, realizing that Alastor probably had very little experience in this department, slotting their mouths together. He gripped tightly to the lapel of Alastor’s jacket for stability as he pushed the kiss deeper, harder. Alastor met him in kind, letting Anthony be in charge of the direction and the intensity of the kiss. 

Anthony nipped lightly at Alastor’s bottom lip, encouraging him to open his mouth for exploration. Alastor responded to the silent request. Anthony dipped his tongue lightly into Alastor’s mouth, surprised when he met Alastor’s with a furocity and Alastor closed his mouth around it, sucking it hard. A rush of fire and desire burned down Anthony’s skin and veins, sending blood and excitement southbound. He moved to press his body flush against Alastor’s. His body melted against Alastor, moaning softly into his mouth as Alastor dropped a hand to his hip to give him more stability. One of Anthony’s hands moved from his jacket to bury into his silken brown hair. He twirled the curls at his nape. Nails dug into the scalp, keeping Alastor from pulling away, even though he seemed to have no desire to be anywhere other than against Anthony. 

Eventually Anthony pulled away, leaving only enough space to breathe before dragging Alastor’s face back to crash into him. Alastor’s mouth was soft and warm as it moved against his lips, devouring and testing. A clash of lips and tongue and teeth. Alastor held Anthony’s hip flush against his pelvis causing more warmth to bloom under his skin and desire to burn through his body. A strong arm wrapped around Anthony’s narrow waist. The other hand carded through his blond hair. He was going to be devoured by Alastor. And Anthony would gladly let him. Practically beg Alastor to taste and devour him over and over again until he couldn’t breathe and there was nothing left of him. 

Alastor pulled back, but kept his hand on Anthony's waist and face. “I apologize. I do not understand what came over me.”

“I do tend to have that effect on people, ya know. And I thought ya didn’t like this kind of stuff, Smiles.” Anthony couldn’t help the broad smile on his face that threatened to turn into a smirk. 

“It felt like the right course of action.”

“Of course ya’d say some shit like that.” He chuckled, running his hands down the front of Alastor’s jacket and back up his shoulders. “So, ya ain’t mind be touchin’ ya?”

“Not especially so.”

“Then, ya wouldn’t mind if I--” Anthony dipped his hand lower, between Alastor’s legs, cupping the hardness he felt through the slacks. He smirked to see that Alastor had the same reaction to him that Anthony had to him.

Alastor grabbed his wrist and held it up between them, “I do not think I gave you permission for any of those more mischievous touches.”

“Hey, I’m just havin’ a little fun with ya. Just doin’ what comes naturally to me.” He chuckled, watching at Alastor’s fingers entwined with his own. Warm palm pressed against the back of Anthony’s hand. “For a man who seems to hate people touchin’ ‘im ya seem to like touchin’ me a whole fuckin’ lot.”

“It seems to come naturally to me as well.” Alastor brought Anthony’s hand to his mouth and kissed lightly on the palm. “I have mentioned, I do not mind your touch. I may even be forward enough to admit that I happen to enjoy some of them.” 

“When ya make ya mind up ‘bout somethin’ ya throw yaself in head first, huh, Smiles?” 

Anthony couldn’t help the broad smile that tugged on the corners of his mouth or the way he could barely tear his gaze away from Alastor’s mouth. He had wondered over and over how it would feel, never thinking that it would be something he would ever get the chance to experience, and it had been better than he ever could have imagined. Better than when he took himself in his hand and thought of Alastor’s touches and mouth to find release alone in his bedroom. Because Alastor was there, in front of him with darkened eyes that spoke of something more carnal, and a devilishly lewd set of lips. His grin was easily met by Alastor’s own. 

“It seems so, my darling.”

“Have ya done anythin’ like this before?”

“Plan a date on Mardi Gras where I take said date aboard a river boat and enjoy an intimate moment under the fireworks? I do not believe so.” 

“Nah, Smiles, I mean kissin’ and all that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just wonderin’. It ain’t a big deal.”

Alastor leaned back on the rail, resting with his elbows behind him. “I have kissed a couple men and women here and there, but I have never had a desire to take it further than that. I mostly used other’s desires for me to lure them back to my home where I then carried out my more carnal need of slaughtering them. I have found that playing at romance and sexual desire seems to work well in gaining trust. I never understood it.” 

“Oh, I see. So, ya ain’t really into romancin’ people unless you’re gonna kill ‘em.” Anthony looked at his feet. His heart sunk deep into his chest as it seemed any bit of hope at something with Alastor was instantly thrown out the window. 

“Now, Angel,” Alastor softly cupped Anthony’s chin and lifted his head to face him. “Do not look so disappointed. I said I never understood it, not that I still have no understanding of it.” Alastor took a deep breath as if uncertain of what to say next. “However, it seems to me that I have gained a little more understanding as I have now found myself in their very same position.” 

Anthony wanted to melt into Alastor touch, but instead he ignored it to the best of his ability and raised an eyebrow in Alastor’s general direction. “What position is that?”

“I am putting my trust in you as it seems I have some desire to have you in my life without any desire to kill you. I do not truly know or understand how or why, but you, my dear, elicit a very different desire and emotion from me than anyone else I have met.” 

“So whatcha sayin’ in that weird way of ya, is that ya fancy me? And ya like me more than a friend.”

“Yes. That seems to be an accurate recount of what I have said. I fancy you, Angel.” 

Anthony’s smile returned and he knew he was beaming at those words. Warmth rushed into his chest. He leapt at Alastor, wrapping his arms around his neck as he leaned his body against Alastor. Toes barely able to keep a hold on the metal floor. Alastor stilled for a moment before snaking his arms around Anthony’s waist. He ducked his head into Anthony’s hair. 

“I like ya too, Strawberry Pimp.” Anthony giggled against Alastor’s strong chest. He felt Alastor groan at the nickname.

“Out of everyone in my life, it had to be you.” Alastor chuckled in his ear, deep and warm, sending chills down Anthony’s spine. “I guess it only makes sense at this point. It is not like I really have any reason to complain, except that horrid nickname you seem to make a personal vendetta to call me.”

Alastor hardened his grip around Anthony and straightened so that Angel no longer touched the ground, and he spun them around in a circle. Anthony squealed as he gripped onto the lapels of Alastor’s suit jacket. He enjoyed how strong Alastor was in that lithe body. How much muscle Anthony could feel move beneath him as Alastor dipped him low. One hand wrapped securely at his waist and the other cupped his cheek. Alastor pressed his forehead to Anthony’s softly rubbing the tips of their noses together. Anthony kept his half lidded gaze on Alastor’s deep brown gaze, reaching up to cup his face in turn. Neither moved to kiss the other. They stayed entangled in each other’s limbs, breaths becoming one and the same between them, until Alastor moved to set Anthony back on his feet. 

The river boat began to turn, causing Alastor to grip onto the rail and for Anthony to grip onto Alastor’s elbow. Now that he knew that Alastor enjoyed his touch, Anthony was going to touch Alastor as much as he wanted, and as much as he had been craving to. Alastor seemed to have the same intention as he didn’t pull away from the touch or stiffen in distaste, but instead wrapped his arm around Anthony’s shoulder so they could watch the boat head back to the harbor. Most of the boats stayed out on the river, many also coming into dock, but there was enough space for their smaller boat to dock and board land. 

Alastor grabbed Anthony’s bags with his old clothes as they moved to leave the boat. Alastor pulled away from Anthony when they headed onto land, as they could not be seen as being intimate now that they weren’t alone. Even if Anthony could pass for a woman, it would still be risky and garner too much interest in their affairs. Anthony wrapped his arms around himself as the night chilled wind whispered across his skin. Without saying anything, Alastor slipped out of his suit coat and wrapped it softly around his shoulders. 

“Smiles, ya don’t gotta--”

“No gentlemen should let their date go cold when they can help. Anyways, it was a bit warm for me in that jacket. But do be sure to return it eventually. You already raided through one of my wardrobes, I do not need to lose any more of my clothing to you.” 

Anthony pulled out his Alastor’s cigarette case, and pulled one out. Alastor cocked a brow but didn’t object. He placed one between his lips and lit it. He held out the case to Alastor who shook his head at the silent question. 

“So, is ya middle name really Edward?”

“Who told you that?”

“Niffty. She stopped by that one day I got blackout drunk lookin’ for ya. Since ya weren’t there, we chatted. She’s got a lot of juicy information on ya.” 

“And what else did Niffty happen to tell you about my personal information?”

“Don’t be too hard on her. I can be pretty persuasive when I wanna be.” Anthony took a long drag off the cigarette. “Well, she told me ya birthday is April first and that ya hate your middle name because it reminds ya of ya pops.” 

“She did tell you the truth, if you are wondering.”

“I assumed. Tellin’ me ya birthday was April Fool’s Day was too fuckin’ unbelievable for her to have made it up. Wait, that’s in less than a month. Do ya have any plans for it?”

“I do not tend to celebrate my birthday.” 

“What? Why’s that? Molls and I would always celebrate our birthday together since we’re twins. It was a lotta fun.” 

“It is not something that I like to do and I have not celebrated since my mother passed. When is your birthday?”

“December eighth.” Anthony felt the calming of the cigarette calm the nervous rumblings of his belly. “Would ya be willin’ to celebrate it with me?”

“I guess there is nothing stopping me.” 

“Then I’m gonna plan the best fuckin’ birthday ever for ya, Smiles. It’ll even be bigger and better than this date. I fuckin’ guarantee it. It’s gonna be the best birthday that ya’ve ever had that you’re gonna shit yaself with joy.”

“I do not think that would be a good response to something that makes me happy.” 

“Well, ya get what I mean.” Anthony stopped outside a familiar iron gate. He hadn’t even realized where they were walking until he came to the silhouette of his apartment complex imposing against the dark blue of the night sky. He turned on his heel to face Alastor with the building at his back. “This is me. Do ya wanna come up?”

“Not tonight, my dear.” Alastor set the bags on the sidewalk, closing the distance between the two of them. Anthony’s heart leapt from its safe spot in his chest to his throat. “Do not get me wrong. It is not because I wish this evening to come to end so soon, but because I am going to be the gentleman that you deserve. I hope you have a good evening, my darling Angel.” He leaned down to place a kiss on Anthony’s flushed cheek. 

Anthony stood on his toes, grabbing Alastor by the back of the neck, keeping him from stepping back, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Smiles. Thanks for the best date I think I’ve ever had.” 

He released Alastor and turned sharply on his heel to turn towards his apartment building because he knew that if he looked at Alastor anymore he would find himself begging for Alastor to come up and finish this night out like his fantasies. He knew that he would end up trying to drag Alastor upstairs to take him on his bed right there and then, and Alastor wasn’t that type of man. He wasn’t a john that he needed to fuck and move onto the next. Alastor wanted to court him, to take things slow, the traditional and old fashioned way. The only issue was that Angel wasn’t a traditional type of guy and he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about something like that without at least tasting a cock or feeling each other up at the end of the night. He thought about it as he walked up the steps to his apartment, fishing for the keys in one of the bags. As he struggled to get the key jammed into the lock, it opened from the inside. 

Cherry leaned against the door frame. Her nest of hair tied back into a knot atop of her head. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, framing her face is grey smoke. She wore a red slip, half of it hanging off her shoulders and barely long enough to cover the roundness of her behind. 

“You’re home early. It’s only like eight.”

“I bagged myself a gentlemen, I guess, wanted to make sure that I got home at a reasonable hour, safe and fuckin’ sound.” Angel shoved his way past. “Were ya expectin’ someone else?”

“Nope. Just sent shitbag packing. I guess it was a good fucking plan because you got home early for a whore.” 

Anthony flipped her off as he dropped his things in his bedroom. “Sorry ya had bad dick and it put you in a pisspoor mood, Cherry.” 

She collapsed onto the couch, “It wasn’t that. It’s just after that fucking police station bombing, I’ve pretty much become New Orleans most wanted and I can’r get shit done anymore without having to worry about the fucking pigs. It’s annoying as shit.” 

“Told ya not to take that job. Even if the cops suck around here, they do tend to care when someone blows up their station.”

Cherry groaned. “So tell me, how’d your date with the radio guy go?”

Anthony kicked off his shoes and tapped Cherry’s legs, requesting her to lift them so he could sit on the couch. She threw her legs onto his lap and propped her head up on an elbow. Angel wrapped himself tighter in Alastor’s jacket, pulling out the cigarette case. The silver shone so that he could see his face on the side of the case. He opened it and pulled out another cigarette and the matchbox. Anthony took a deep breath of smoke, offering it to Cherry when she smoked hers down to her finger tips. 

“It was the best fuckin’ date I think I’ve ever gone on.” 

“Fucking hell. Did your radio daddy pull some cheesy bullshit to get you swooning like a fucking gradeschool girl?”

“Ha, I’m gonna have to remember that one. Al’s gonna absolutely fuckin’ hate it when I call him that. And I guess. We had coffee and beignets at this small cafe before going shopping at the stalls on Canal.”

“He got you that fancy dress?”

“Yeah, he insisted on it. I got him somethin’ too, so don’t go fuckin’ thinkin’ that I’m using him for his money. He just likes to get me things. After that we had dinner on one of those small river boats with the big paddles movin’ it around. He was such a fuckin’ dork, askin’ if he could kiss me. Of course, I teased him ‘bout it. I think that’s the best kiss I’ve had in a long time.”

Cherry rolled her eyes, digging her heels into the tops of his thighs, “Earth to Angie. It seems we’ve lost you to the romancing of your favorite radio host. Oh the humanity!”

“Shut ya trap, bitch. Just ‘cause I can meet a nice guy and ya can’t don’t mean ya gotta ruin it with your fuckin’ spinster vibes.” 

“I’m barely older than you, whore, so you can’t go calling me a spinster without including your bratty self.” She threw her head back in a laugh like she was the funniest person on the planet. “But, really, Angie, I’m happy for you. It’s about time one of us met one of the good ones. And he seems at least a little competent. He got my gun away from me once. I’m not letting him get the better of me again. It was bullshit the first time. I underestimated that little radio host.” 

“Rosie’s got come job for him comin’ up, so ya gotta admit he’s got some skills.” 

“Maybe it’s a job for his pretty face.” 

“Bitch, ya don’t get to call my new man pretty. And if Rosie really wanted a pretty distraction,” Anthony went through the motion of throwing hair over his shoulder, though, since he got it shorter, there wasn’t any hair to complete the motion. “She should’ve asked me. We all know I can get men and women droppin’ their panties faster than any other fucker.” 

“Why else would she want someone outside her gang?”

“Maybe that’s exactly it. And Al loves to play with his knives. He and Rosie have a fun fuckin’ time butcherin’ randos.” 

“Wait, Angie what did you say?”

“What? They’re killers. Ya can’t judge Smiles ‘cause I know for a fact ya got as many deaths on you as he does.” 

“He’s the Smilemarker, right?” When Anthony refused to meet her gaze, Cherry howled in amusement. “Shit. You from a pimp to a fucking serial killer. You really know how to fucking pick them.”

“Hey,” Anthony slapped her calf. “At least I know that Alastor ain’t gonna hurt me.” 

Cherry tilted her head to the side, “Yeah? How do you know that? He’s a fucking psychopath if he can kill that many people and mutilate them like the Smilemaker does. I might have a few bodies under my belt but even that shit makes me uncomfortable.” 

“‘Cause I know he wouldn’t. And killin’ ain’t even the worst of it.” It’s not like he could tell Cherry that he practically begged Alastor to kill him. That would set off her protective friend mode than lying to her and saying that he had no concrete reason. She might not let him out of her sight if he told her about that. He loved her. She was his best friend, but he didn’t need her controlling his life. 

“If that’s not the worst of it, what is? You can’t just say something like that and then not answer me. I might be an asshole, but I still want you to be safe, Angie.” 

Anthony shoved her legs off him and stalked to the bathroom to begin removing his makeup. “It don’t matter, Cherry. Just trust me when I say I got a good feelin’ ‘bout ‘im. It’s not gonna end up like Val.” 

Cherry followed him to the bathroom, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips formed a tight line as Anthony knew she was stopping herself from saying what she truly wanted. He slipped out of the dress and placed the jewelry on the side of the sink, starting to run the water for a bath. Anthony ignored Cherry and the ‘V’ he saw on his chest, refusing to look at the damage or any reminders of Valentino. 

Anthony sighed, “Just spit it out. I know ya got somethin’ ya wanna say.” 

“Angie, you know you said the same thing about Valentino before I met you. I just don’t want you making the same mistake and falling for the first guy to be nice to you in a long time.”

“I know, Cherry. You’re lookin’ out for me and I appreciate it, but I promise ya that Alastor is different. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it's the fact I ain’t fucked ‘im yet or that he’s the nicest guy I’ve met since movin’ down here and honestly, in New York too. I don’t know. I trust ‘im and I feel safe when I’m ‘round ‘im.”

“Fine.” Cherry held her hands up in surrender. “But let him know that if he harms a single hair on your head I’m gonna blow him and his shit to pieces.”

Anthony stepped into the tub, sinking beneath the water until it came up to his chest. “I bet ya he already knows that. But I’ll make sure to tell ‘im. Now get the fuck out. I’m tryin’ to take a bath.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before, Angie.” She chuckled. “See you later, slut.” 

Cherry shut the door to the bathroom behind her. Anthony dropped his head below the surface of the water and opened his eyes. He watched through blurred eyes as bubbled escaped his nose and floated to the surface. He wondered for a moment if this is what it looked like to drown. He also wondered what it would be like to take a bath with Alastor, to get him naked and wet in close quarters. He sat up, letting the water roll off his skin and hair in waves and streams. He threw his hair back and listened as the radio clicked on from the other side of the door. Anthony pulled his knees to his chest. He replayed the day over and over in his head until he scrubbed the grime and makeup and sweat from his skin and hair. After washing the soup from his hair and skin, he emptied the tub, pulling up the drain stopper. 

He scrubbed his body down with a towel that hung on the back of the door, fluffing up his wet hair. Anthony caught himself in the mirror and stared. Over the past couple days he tried to avoid looking at himself as much as he could. The purple and yellow bruised. The dark, luggage sized circles under his eyes. The accursed ‘V’ branded into his breast. The other scars and small imperfections that stared back at him. A lifelong canvas of everything that he put himself through or someone else beat into him. Anthony had learned to take pain over the years, but he still hated it. He hated how his family had hated him for being himself, how he was forced to disappear to another part of the country, how he was easily transfixed and enamored by Valentino’s pretty words and expensive gifts, how it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he always gained new bruised, broken bones, and scars. 

Anthony took a deep breath, wrapped the towel around his chest, and darted out of the bathroom to his bedroom. No longer in the mood to socialize, but to lay in his bed, listening to the subtle sounds of jazz and a different host play on the radio as he changed into an oversized button up that was originally Alastor’s. He curled up on his bed, thinking through everything that happened in the day. The kiss. The small touched. The gifts. 

A part of him began to compare it to Valentino. Cherry’s words getting stuck in his head. A lot of the ways Alastor had treated him today were the ways that Valentino treated Anthony in the beginning. However a hopeful part of him fought against those comparisons, urging Anthony that Alastor would be different. He felt it. He knew it. Alastor had to be different because Anthony wasn't sure that he would survive if he wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end here, I use my own experience with certain exes of mine. Even if you can have a loving and sweet partner now there is always that fear that they will be like the abusive ones before. So, I want all those who've experienced these intrusive thoughts to understand that it is okay and it isn't your fault, but I know that you will find someone who treats you wonderfully and how you deserve!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a hot second since I updated and I want to apologize for that. I lost track of time with midterms and everything going on in my life right now, but I promised I haven't forgot about you! I appreciate all the love and support I've received from this work. I love all the comments and all your theories and opinions. It warms my heart. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Alastor hummed along to a song that played its way into his head as he climbed aboard the station platform. The temperature had dropped since Mardi Gras as his breath was apparent in a cloud in front of him. He rubbed his gloved hands together, trying to put warmth back into them. Alastor, the Louisiana boy that he was, hated when the nights dropped below freezing, or when it was cold enough to feel it in his teeth and bones. He wandered over to one of the payphones, as he had extra time before his train was supposed to depart, and placed a nickel inside, dialing up a number that he had memorized over the past half a week since Mardi Gras. 

“Who the fuck is calling this late?”

“Good evening to you as well, Miss Cherry.” 

Cherry huffed on the other end of the line. “I told you to drop the miss, Alastor. Angie, your boy toy is on the phone.” 

He learned quickly that Cherry might not be his biggest fan, but she surely wasn’t his biggest enemy either. She was protective of Angel, and he respected that, except for when he showed up Thursday evening and she placed a shotgun at his groin. To say that made him a little uncomfortable would be an understatement. Mainly because Alastor was sure that she would pull the trigger with glee given enough cause. 

“Hey, Smiles, why ya callin’ so late? It’s almost midnight.” Angel said on the other end of the line. His voice a little slurred from alcohol and giddy at the sound of his nickname for Alastor.

“Ah, yes, well, you see, that favor I am supposed to do for Rosie is taking me out of town for the weekend and I thought I should let you know. I was going to call when I got to the motel, but I arrived at the station early and thought I would take the time to inform you now.” 

“Wait, which station?”

“The train station, of course.” 

“Oh,” Angel sounded a little deflated at the announcement. “Where ya goin’?”

“Just to Dallas. There is a growing interest in the bootlegging and drug trade there and one of Rosie’s lieutenants has been working as a double agent for one of the rival gangs there. She insisted on sending me to deal with it because her rivals cannot find out it was her, so she is sending someone who is not associated with her business exploits.” 

“Alright, that makes sense. How long are ya plannin’ on bein’ gone?”

Alastor shifted his small suitcase and the duffle bag he had with him on his shoulders. “I should be back early Monday morning, in time for my radio broadcast.”

“I wanna see ya when ya get back.”

“I would very much enjoy that.” Alastor listened to the sound of the train whistle and the conductor yell from his spot near the door for passengers to get on the late night train. “I have to go now. I will call you when I can to plan the outing. Does dinner at my house sound feasible?”

“Sounds great, Smiles. Don’t miss ya train. Goodnight.”

“And have a good night yourself, my darling Angel. Sleep well.” He placed the ear of the phone back on the receiver and boarded the train. 

Alastor placed the tweed luggage on the rack above his head while he kept the duffle bag at his feet. The car was practically empty except for another young man a couple rows ahead of him with a fedora pulled low over his brow, keeping his facial features in shadow, and a middle aged woman reading a newspaper and a cigarette hung from his thin lips. He pulled out the book Angel had bought him at Mardi Gras. He smiled softly as he read the familiar story and thought about Angel as he did. The train howled its sharp whistles and pulled out of the station with a lurch. 

The train ride was calm and quiet, just as Alastor liked it. The conductor came through the cabin with a hole punch to stamp out each of the tickets. Alastor held his ticket out, barely paying attention as the conductor placed a hole through it. He finished reading through the novel and ducked it back into his duffle bag. He dozed softly, resting his head on his palm that was propped up by the arm rest. Alastor woke up when he felt the warmth of the sun hit his cheeks. The sun rose languidly above the horizon line, spilling gold and orange and soft blues onto the sky. He wondered if Angel was awake, or if he even ended up getting to sleep before the sun rose. He thought about how much more enjoyable this train trip would have been if Angel had come along. Much better company than him alone in an almost empty car. Alastor stretched his arms over his head and twisted his spine in his seat, hearing the satisfying cracks and feeling the release of pressure in his spine. 

“We should pull into Dallas station in a half hour.” The conductor announced over the speaker system in the car.

The woman had the newspaper held open in her lap. Her head tilted back and her mouth opened in soft snores. The young man had disappeared from his seat. Alastor assumed that he must have gotten off at a previous station, but he couldn’t think of any large or popular stations on the route between Dallas and New Orleans. He shrugged, not thinking it important, and that he shouldn’t be caring so much about strangers that he observed on the train. The train slid into the station. The brakes screamed under the pressure of the train and steam billowed past his window. Alastor stood, buttoning his suit coat at his waist and grabbed his luggage, throwing the duffle over his shoulder. As he walked past the woman, he gently tapped her on the shoulder. She startled awake. 

“Are we in Texas?” She asked, voice raspy with sleep. 

“We have been for a while, but we have arrived at the Dallas station. Do you need help with that?” He nodded to the luggage above her head. 

“If you don’t mind.” 

“I would not have offered if I minded.” He set his own luggage down quickly and pulled hers down. 

“Thank you.”

Alastor nodded and grabbed his things, stepping off the train and onto the station platform. The Dallas air was cool in the early dawn hours, but not the wet coolness that he was used to in the swamp and wetlands of Louisiana. The station was a bit busier as the early morning trains would be filled with passengers. He deftly avoided the crowds and the yelling of salesmen and newspapers boys that tried to sell their wares. Alastor left the station and waved down a taxi that loitered on the street outside the station. 

He was about to step in when the taxi driver shook his head and pointed with a thumb for Alastor to step away. 

“I only take white folks, buddy, get one of the black taxis.” 

Alastor’s smile tightened, but he stepped away from the taxi. “Of course. Have a good day, sir.” 

No matter how much he could pass for white, especially in the south where tanning was popular and common, there were still some features that pointed him out as not all white. His grip tightened on the luggage and he felt his anger rise in his chest. Alastor knew he couldn’t do anything about it, especially if any signs of the Smilemaker were found in Dallas at the exact time he was there, it wouldn’t look good for proving innocence. Rosie said that if she got bored, she might play at Smilemaker while he was out of town for the weekend. But he highly doubted she would have the time. Prohibition for the pirate era for mobsters. 

“Hey, man, you need a ride?” A dark skinned man asked as he lounged against his taxi. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips. 

“I would appreciate it.” Alastor said, walking up to the taxi. 

“Toss your things in the back. I’ll take you where you need to go if you have the money.” 

He chuckled, gently placed the suitcase in the trunk, but kept the duffle bag in the backseat with him. “Of course I have the money.” 

The driver tossed his cigarette to the ground, grinding the embers out with the toe of his shoe. “Saw what happened back there.” He said as he settled into the driver's seat. Alastor settling into the back. 

Alastor shrugged and handed the driver a note of the address of the hotel Rosie had made the reservation at. He didn’t feel like talking about it. Especially with a stranger. He needed to get to his hotel, have some breakfast and take a shower before he set up everything else he needed for the trip. He checked his pocket watch. It read just after seven. Plenty of time before to prepare before he had to get the location Rosie gave him. The taxi’s engine sputtered to life and turned onto the street. It seemed the driver understood Alastor’s silence and didn’t try to pester him with more conversation.

After the short drive, the driver pulled into a horseshoe shaped turn around in front of a small hotel. It wasn’t large or expensive looking, but also not one of the rundown motels that he frequented when he desired something more than a place to rest. It had homely quality to it, almost like an inn made out of sandstone. He slipped the driver the money and grabbed his suitcase from the trunk of the automobile. The driver gave him a two finger salute before he drove off, leaving Alastor in front of the hotel. Alastor quickly got the key to his room and climbed up the two flights of stairs. He felt exhausted as he shouldered the door to the hotel open and slipped inside, finding the switch for the ceiling lights and flipping them on. The room was small, big enough for just Alastor, with a full size mattress, a small dresser, a nightstand, and a bathroom off to the side. A round table was tucked into a corner with a chair pushed in beside it and a radio on top. He set his luggage down, aiming for the radio. He flipped through the station until he found one with less of the talking and more of the music. Alastor entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 

He felt sticky and gross after the six hour train ride and needed to wash the sweat from his skin. He striped out of his clothes and started the shower. Alastor scrubbed himself down with the provided bath soap and shampoo. Water ran over his skin and through his hair. It gave him a moment to calm down and think through his plan. He spent the week coming up with it with the help of Rosie, but now that he was actually in Dallas, he needed to review to make sure that everything went off without a hitch and he could make it back to New Orleans in time for both his radio show and his date with Angel.

Alastor turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, rubbing down his hair and body with one of the off white towels that hung up on the back of the door, and quickly changed into a black knitted turtleneck, black slacks that tapered at the ankle and belted at his hips, black loafers, a black leather coat and matching gloves. It wasn’t his normal attire, and he knew he would be perceived as more of a ruffian than he tried to dress, but it couldn’t be helped. Alastor needed to look as far from himself as possible, and also blend in more when night fell. He slicked his hair back with pomade, but some of the more stubborn strands fell in front of his forehead, but he ignored them, deciding they fit the style that he was going for more than the prim and proper look of his hair being perfectly slicked back. He swung the duffle over his shoulders so that the strap rested diagonally across his chest and grabbed the map of Dallas that sat at his bedside nightstand. It gave recommendations for local restaurants and shops in the areas, along with popular tourist destinations and the necessary warning of growing mob influence in the city. Alastor picked out a diner that existed near the warehouse district, but also not in one of the heavy tourist or shopping areas. 

He closed the door behind him as he left the hotel, making sure to lock it tightly before heading down to the front desk. Alastor asked the concierge about acquiring a taxi to get him in the vicinity of the warehouse district and to the small diner he had in mind. 

“You know that the warehouse district is where a lot of mob activity happens. Are you sure you want to head out there?”

“Yes sir. All I need is a taxi to bring me out there.” 

“Then I’d be sure to get back before dark. I wouldn’t want to get caught up in all that.”

“Thanks for the concern, but you have no reason to worry about me.” Alastor tried to give his most appeasing smile, but he wasn’t sure if it was taken the way he meant when the concierge continued to scowl, but at least turned to call up the taxi service. 

“Here you go.” He held out the taxi informed and a receipt for Alastor. 

“Have a nice day.” Alastor took the slip of paper, adjusting the duffle at his back, and left the lobby of the hotel. 

He pulled out his cigarette case and struck the match against his nail to produce the spark. He held it up to the cigarette in his mouth and inhaled deeply to light the tobacco. Alastor took a deep inhale of the smoke, shaking out the match before it burned down to his fingertips and tossed it in the trash bin in front of the hotel. He smoked it down to his fingers as the taxi pulled into the turnaround and he tossed the butt to the ground and stomped it out under his heel. 

“Leveau?” The taxi driver asked as he stepped out of the automobile. It was the same dark skinned man as before, except this time it seemed he also took that time to freshen up. His beard was trimmed and his bald skull shone in the morning light. He smacked his laps around a piece of chewing tobacco before spitting it onto the sidewalk.

“Yes. Though most people tend to call me Alastor.” Alastor chuckled.

“Need help with your bag?”

“Nah, thank you. I will keep it with me.” 

The driver shrugged, placing another piece of chewing tobacco between his lower lip and teeth. Alastor slid into the same spot as over an hour before, settling the duffle into the seat next to him. 

“We don’t see a lot of people with those fancy french sounding names around here. I assume you're from Louisiana, but you don’t speak like anyone else I’ve heard from there.”

“Born and raised, I do have to say. Though, you would not be the first to point out that I sound a bit different.” 

“Didn’t mean to offend.” 

Alastor held up a hand, “Do not misunderstand. There has been no offense taken. I spent a long time teaching myself to speak like this, so I take it as a compliment.”

“Wasn’t your Mardi Gras this week too? A lot of people around here tend to travel to participate in the festivities. Do anything for it?”

Alastor thought back to his Mardi Gras. It had been his favorite since his mother died and probably the first time he went. The afternoon would be held in his heart for a long time to come. 

“I did celebrate with a friend of mine. It was a wonderful outing. I would recommend the holiday for anyone.”

As the conversation slowed, Alastor turned his attention out the window, keeping a solid grip in the strap of his duffle. Tall buildings passed by slowly becoming more and more spaced out before being replaced with low cut, thick cement and steel warehouses. The sun warmed his face and the top of his head as it cut higher in the sky. The automobile began to slow, pulling up to the curb in front of a small diner. Alastor gave the man his toll plus a small tip before exiting the automobile with a slight nod to the driver and slammed the door shut behind him. The engine sputtered to life, and the automobile took off down the street, leaving him standing on the sidewalk alone. He headed into the diner, hearing the tinkling of a bell over his head. 

“Be right with you, honey.” A plump woman rushed past him was a tray loaded with eggs, bacon, pancakes, coffee, juice, and sausages. “Sit wherever you’d like.” 

Alastor took her command and chose a booth in the corner, slipping the duffle under the table between his feet. He grabbed a paper menu from the pile held upright in a small stand next to the window. He scanned the menu, looking for something to entice his appetite. It wasn’t the same as the creole food he preferred, but classic american diner food that served to appease most people’s tastes. 

The waitress pulled up to him, pulling a small notebook out of the white apron secured around her round midsection. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee to start, please. I’m still deciding on something else.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“A little bit of milk, but no sugar, please.” 

She gave a sharp nod before turning on her heel to head to the kitchen to grab the pot of coffee Alastor saw sitting on the counter. Her dirty blond hair threatened to spill out of the knot at her neck. Strands already framed her face haphazardly. Alastor pulled a novel, a notebook, and a pen from the duffle at his feet, opening up the notebook to a blank page. He tapped softly on the page with his pen before beginning to write. The waitress stopped by and dropped off the coffee and a small pitcher shaped vessel of milk before turning to take care of the next table. Alastor poured some of the milk into the coffee to cut the bitter, occasionally burnt, taste of the drip coffee. He spent the day in that diner, ordering a plate of bacon and eggs for brunch, going between the journal and the novel until the sun dipped low enough to signal that it was approaching evening. He quietly paid his tab and left the diner, making sure to leave the waitress who served him all day without question a sizable tip. Alastor swung the duffle over his shoulder, securing it to his back as he made his way into the large warehouse district. 

Long shadows cast on the pavement as he looked at the numbers on the warehouses, trying to find the one that Rosie said the meeting would take place at. After almost an hour searching through multiple streets and over a hundred different buildings, he found the specific one he needed. On the opposite side of the street, with a view of the lot between the warehouses and the buildings themselves, stood an old apartment building that looked slated for demolition with the smashed out windows and cracked door frames. A fire escape wove itself up the side of the apartment building all the way to the roof. 

Alastor walked over to the fire escape and noticed that access to the first floor from the street was completely rusted through and fell apart under his touch. He sighed, tucking his glasses into the inner pocket of his jacket. He crouched low on the ground, getting his footing before he jumped up and grabbed what had been the top rung of the ladder that led from the first floor to the ground. Alastor groaned as he felt the pull in his shoulders at his body weight plus the added weight of the duffle on his back. He snaked himself free of the duffle, tossing it onto the first floor landing of the fire escape before pulling himself over the ledge and onto the landing. It creaked under his steps as he slipped the duffle back around himself and aimed for the next latter. It was surprisingly intact. He climbed up on floor and to the next, until he was on the last stretch to the roof. Alastor gasped as the rung he stood on fell out beneath him, leaving him dangling over forty feet in the air by his grip alone. He silently cursed in his head before swinging his feet onto the next rung above the one that rusted out. He continued to climb until he could pull himself over the edge of the roof and onto the top of it. 

“Remember to have a word with Rosie about these types of favors.” He muttered to himself. 

Alastor settled down at the edge of the roof that faced the lot and warehouse that Rosie specifically gave him. He opened the duffle bag, moving aside the book, notebook, and writing instruments, and the blanket beneath them to reveal the pieces of a rifle, along with ammunition and a scope. Alastor put the pieces of the rifle back together out of instinct more than thought. He placed it on the ledge of the roof, laying on his stomach with the butt of the rifle pressed against his shoulder. Through the scope settled on top of the rifle, he could see the entirety of the lot up close and through the glass windows on the roof of the warehouse. 

The sun dipped lower and lower until he settled against the horizon, turning the sky into a mixture of pinks, oranges, purples, and the dark blue of night that chased behind those bright colors. Alastor thought back to the first time he ever held a rifle in his hands. It had been his mother’s rifle, the one gun that she insisted on owning. She would take him out to the deer blind that she built with her father and teach him how to take the rifle and, through the coverage of the blind, shoot a deer right through the heart. Sabine insisted that he learn to hunt, cook, clean, everything he needed to do to take care of himself. 

His mind pulled up a memory that he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Alastor, around the age of five or six, left the deer blind without telling his mother and disappeared into the woods surrounding them. He wandered around for hours, ending up lost, coming upon a small bobcat kitten. He reached out to the small cat, oblivious to its mother stalking him in the brush behind him. Alastor turned around to face the gaping maw and claws of the bobcat. He barely had time to scream before it pounced. A shot went off before it could wrap its sharp teeth around his throat. Sabine stood in the treeline with the rifle raised and a small plume of smoke coming of it’s barrel. She dropped the gun and rushed to Alastor, scooping him up in her arms. He cried and clung to her, and she whispered sweet nothings to calm him down and stroked his back. 

A vehicle came around the corner, pulling Alastor from his memories. He turned the scope to focus of the automobile as it pulled up in front of the warehouse. A man stepped out of the back of the automobile. He had the thick pot belly and a cigar dangled from his mouth. A large man stepped out behind him, blocking Alastor’s view for a moment. Two men followed out of the automobile, flocking the fat man. Another automobile pulled into the lot after them, smaller and definitely less opulent than the first. A short man dressed in a pinstripe grey suit with a fedora pulled over his brow stepped out of the automobile. He was short and slender with a mop of dark hair that could be seen when he took off his fedora and tossed it into the car. Two more men stepped out of the car, armed with holsters that crossed over their backs. Alastor rolled his eyes at the hired guns. It seemed no one trusted the other in this meeting. A third automobile rolled into the lot. A man stepped out of it with his arms crossed over his stomach and walked towards the first group to arrive. Alastor couldn’t hear anything from his position or see their features well enough to make out their mouths enough for lipreading, but he could make them out enough to register that the man who arrived last was exactly the man Rosie had sent him here to deal with. The larger man slapped a hand on the squirrely looking one. It could look like a friendly gesture but Alastor was certain that it was to keep the man from running off in the middle of the meeting. 

The meeting went on for a little while, mostly pleasantries. Alastor kept his shot trained on the nervous man. He looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember his name. All he was certain of was that he was selling Rosie trade secrets and access to her drug and bootlegging routes. Rosie had to dispose of him before too much was spoken of. The moment he had a clear visual and shot, he slowed his breathing and rested his finger on the trigger, and, in between one breath and the next, he fired. 

The shot went through the informant’s skull and he dropped like a bag of stones to the ground. Chaos erupted in the parking lot. Everyone pulled their guns and whipped their heads around to try and pinpoint the shot. Alastor ducked, flattening himself against the roof and out of sight. He quickly dismantled the rifle and hid it beneath the blanket and other inconspicuous items in the bag. He looked around and grabbed the shell casing, tossing it into the gutter that ran along the edge of the apartment building. Alastor tossed the duffle over his shoulder and headed for the fire escape. He slid down the ladders and landed softly on the landing, hoping to avoid making any more noise than necessary. As he hit the street that ran behind the building, he aimed to get as far away from the warehouse district as possible. 

He heard the click before he had the chance to move. The unmistakable sound of the hammer being cocked in place, ready to fire. Alastor stilled. His heart dropped to his stomach, but he refused to show it. 

“Hand up. Turn ‘round.” A gruff voice ordered behind him. Alastor stayed exactly where he was. He heard the footsteps of the man before he felt the cool barrel of the gun press against the back of his. “Or I can shoot ya here an’ now.”

Alastor sighed and held his arms up beside his head. “No need to resort to such drastic measures just yet.” He turned around slowly, keeping the smile on his face. It almost dropped when he saw the face of the man that held him at gunpoint. 

“Who are ya?”

“Alastor Leveau.” He swallowed. “And may I ask who you are?”

“Alessandro. D’Angeli.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in the same week? Look at that. Thanks for all the comments and love as always! I hope that I can leave you in anticipation of what's to happen next. In the meantime enjoy a little cameo and some more Angel Dust being Angel Dust. Love everything that you comment and the kudos!

Music filtered in through the shut door. A heavy mixture of saxophone and drums. Anthony leaned forward against the vanity in the green room, applying kohl to his lash line. He sipped on the flask of rum he kept in the vanity for emergencies. He applied a heavy layer of foundation to hide the bruises that still stained his skin yellow and purple. He slipped ruby red thigh highs over his legs and attached them to the garter that wrapped around the tops of his thighs. Anthony pulled a slip over his head in a dark black that was stark against his pale skin. It hid the lace bodice beneath the smooth and cool silk. The slip clung to his waist and chest, showing the lack of natural curves, but not the long and slender legs. He applied a dark red lipstick that matched the color of the thigh highs, along with adding bright rouge to his eyelids that blended in with the black of the kohl. He slipped on bright red gloved over his hands and up his arms, throwing a red feathered boa around his neck and shoulders. 

The door opened behind it, but Anthony refused to turn around, continuing to fluff up his hair to make sure any imperfections in his skin were covered. Valentino didn’t say anything as he approached him. Anthony carefully watched every one of his moves from the mirror like an animal that was cornered, but didn’t want to show that fear. He turned his gaze back to himself in the mirror when Valentino turned his attention to the reflection. 

Valentino ran a couple slow fingers down Anthony’s neck, between his shoulder blades, and down to the dimples of the small of his back before softly dipping beneath the hem of the slip to grab at Anthony’s bare ass. He kneaded at it. Nails dug into the soft and supple skin. Anthony refused to give a reaction, as his only reaction would be disgust, and that was likely to get him a beating or worse. 

“You look magnificent. Too bad you have such a high paying john, otherwise I might have kept you around for myself.” Valentino smirked. 

“I’m glad you approve, daddy.” 

Anthony knew he had to play it up. Everything. He turned around in Valentino’s touch, leaning back on the vanity to expose the length of his body. He ran a stocking covered foot up and along the side of Valentino’s leg before languidly resting his knee over Valentino’s hip. He lowered his gaze, sending him the most sultry look he could muster when he looked at the pimp. Anthony would have preferred to be doing this with Alastor. It would be genuine then. But he also didn’t want to press Valentino, to anger him, or cross any lines. He wanted to avoid any more beatings or unwanted touches. He was lucky that his services were called by a rich john that was rarely in town. His night would be miraculously easier than he expected when Valentino demanded he show up. Anthony knew he couldn’t stay away from work forever. He had rent and groceries to pay for.

“He pays well, so make sure he gets his money’s worth, Angelcakes.” Valentino gripped his knee, digging his grip in hard enough to hurt, but Anthony held his tongue. “Be a good boy and have fun.” 

“Don’t I always, daddy?” Anthony purred. 

Valentino released his grip and slapped his thigh a couple times lightly before withdrawing. He pressed a bronze key on the vanity next to Anthony’s hip. He shut the door to the greenroom closed snuggly behind him. Anthony released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he heard the latch of the door click. He ran his hands through his hair before grabbing the wool jacket he stole from Alastor and wrapped it securely around him and slipped his feet into knee high leather boots. He downed the rest of the flask, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, careful not to smear the lipstick. 

Anthony slipped out of his greenroom, walking past the backstage and entered the thrumming crowd entranced with the dancers on the stage and the booze in their guts. Flushed faces and wandering hands were all he knew as he skirted his way around the edge of the main floor to the exit. As he broke out of the club and onto the sidewalk, a cool breeze whipped through his hair and chilled the sweat on his skin. A small automobile sat in front of the building with its headlights on bright. The engine hummed beneath the black hood. Anthony knocked on the window, catching the attention of the driver who seemed more preoccupied with ogling the girls in the window and smoking his cigarillo down to his fingertips. The driver reached across the seat to open the door from the inside. Anthony rolled his eyes at the laziness of the driver, but climbed into the seat. 

The driver pressed the end of his cigarillo into the ashtray to keep it from burning. He refused to look as Anthony, barely keeping the look of contempt or just blind hate from the scowl on his face. Anthony kept his attention on the street as the automobile pulled away from the sidewalk and into the street. They had to drive slow because of the half sober pedestrians that wandered haphazardly into the street. If there was one city that knew how to keep the party going and refused prohibition better than any other, it would have to be New Orleans. Just his type of city. He pulled a small vial of white pills from his coat pocket and poured two out onto his palm. Anthony tossed them back, dry swallowing them. All he needed to do was wait the half hour or so before the pcp took effect and he hoped that they would before he showed up at his appointment. He really wasn’t in the mood for anything, but being so high that he couldn’t tell who was fucking him or remember most of it after the fact. 

The ride was painfully quiet and Anthony was painfully aware of exactly how he looked. A pretty little package for some rich jerk to fuck to his hearts content, dressed up in a way that he could pass for a woman, but if you looked close enough it was easy to tell that the heart shaped face went with a more masculine jawline, the lack of curves or breasts would be the biggest sign, but at least that androgynous look was in fashion so he could maybe get away with it. 

Anthony mused on life in New York. How his twin, Molly, was doing. If his older brother, Alessandro, was just as much of a piece of shit as he always was. At least he could guarantee that his father was up to the same shit and being the same emotionless asshole that he always was. He missed his sister, and sometimes, the extra lonely and depressed times, he even missed his brother. He never missed the old man. That man didn’t even deserve his hatred or pity. 

The driver turned into the turnaround outside of a large hotel, covered in lights and white and baby blue paint, and through the parking lot and around to the back entrance of the hotel. It looked like an old manor that had been spiffed up for Mardi Gras than a hotel. It also looked like the place a rich old bastard would pick. Valentino had kept the name of the john out of the information he was given, so he was going to have to guess what wrinkly old man he had the luxury of fucking tonight. The driver gestered for Anthony to get out of the automobile. 

“I’ll pick you up at six.” Was all he said before Anthony slammed the door shut between them and he took off. 

“Great. Stuck with this fucker for six hours.” 

Anthony shook his head and kept it lowered as he entered the hotel, winding his way through the back door, past the kitchen, past the room that housed the maid staff and into the lobby, heading straight for the stairwell nearest him in the back corner. He climbed up the stairs and to the top floor, making a beeline to the penthouse suite. He rapped his knuckles on the white door and waited for a response. After a moment, without any noise or commotion from the inside, he raised his hand to knock again. Before he could touch the wood of the door, it burst open from the inside. 

A man in his early fifties stood in a mostly opened plush robe, leaving none of his lanky, hairy body in question. He had large, dark, almost owl-like eyes and bushy eyebrows. His nose was prominent on his face, in an almost beak-like fashion. His dark hair was clipped short along the sides and back, but fluffed up on his crown in unruly curls. 

“You must be Angel. Welcome. Welcome. I’m Stolas. Come on in.” Stolas held the door open for Anthony and he slinked inside. 

The door shut behind him with a satisfying click, but he didn’t hear the turn of the lock. Anthony released a small breath he was holding, turning to face Stolas, and dropped his coat to pool on the floor beneath his feet. 

Anthony turned over in the sheets, searching through the nightstand for a pack of cigarettes. He found a partially crushed box alongside a matchbox that he assumed was meant to light the fireplace in the foyer of the penthouse suite. He struck the match on the outside of the matchbox and held it to the cigarette as he breathed in. Anthony watched as the fire was directed towards his breath and lit the tobacco. The only light in the room being the cherry of his cigarette after he shook out the remaining fire on the match. Anthony turned his attention to Stolas as he groaned and rolled away, so that his back faced him. 

If he had to say anything about the man, it was that he wasn’t what Anthony was expecting. Anthony was used to having to play the submissive bottom, a role that he enjoyed and fit his more feminine presentation, but tonight he got to expand his taste to topping. It wasn’t at all the night he pictured when he arrived, but it worked out in the best way possible. Anthony got to be in control for once, and he didn’t end up covered in bruises and aching in his behind after a session with a john. Mostly Stolas wanted to talk. About his wife, his daughter, his secret fuck buddy on the side. Any of it. Anthony knew that was part of the job, listening to a john’s problems and life as the after sex pillow talk until they eventually got enough off their chest and out of their mind for them to pass out from the post orgasm exhaustion and the emotional release. It left Anthony, usually, awake with time to contemplate his own life and own feelings. Something he tended to hate to do. It was easier to drown them out in drugs and booze than it was to deal with it. That was his preferred method of dealing with things, but the pcp had got him through the sex and the pillow talk with a sense of release and euphoria, but not the part of the early morning when he was painfully sober. 

He breathed in the grey smoke, letting it settle in his lungs and singe the back of his throat before he breathed it out, curling out of his nose. He snaked the rest of the sheet out from underneath Stolas without waking the man. Anthony wrapped it around his shoulders, letting it drape over him like a robe and a cloak in one. He made his way over to the mini bar next to the fireplace in the mainroom that served as both a foyer and living room. He grabbed a glass decanter of what looked to be either bourbon or whiskey, but at this point he didn’t particularly care, all that he cared about was that it was liquor. Anthony went to the pair of french glass doors that led out to the small balcony and twisted the lock to have them open. He wrapped the sheet tighter around himself as the cold night air cut through the thin fabric. 

Anthony leaned on his elbows on the balcony of the railing, setting the decanter on the rail next to him. He pulled out the stopper and swished it around before bringing it to his lips and taking a big gulp. It was smooth, not causing the burn on his throat of the cheap stuff he usually got from the bootleggers and Valentino. 

At the thought of Valentino, Anthony chugged more of the booze down until he felt the warmth build in his chest. He looked down at the front of the hotel. Streetlights blazed beneath the fog that began to roll in. People, just making their way home from a night of boozing and partying, stumbled along the sidewalks, alongside people dressed and sober enough to be heading to work. Many of his coworkers lingered on street corners, sharing drugs and booze between them. Since the crash, Anthony noticed the boom in hookers and dancers. The homeless population also began to grow and settled along alleyways that came off Bourbon Street. Anthony feared what was to come next. He heard Alastor talk about it on his radio show, in between the music tracks and the people calling into the station to request tracks. 

Anthony remembered how he had been one of those many people to call the station in a hope to vie for Alastor’s attention. Anthony had loved Alastor’s voice from the first moment he heard it. He was one of those who were homeless on the street after running away from his family in New York City, a decision that he made rashly and without any real plan, and he heard it playing from the open window of a laundromat. He chuckled to himself, slipping down to sit on the cold balcony. His back pressed against the railing and the bottle of whisky cradled in his lap. Anthony couldn’t believe that he asked Alastor to dinner, and he came, but Anthony was too much of a coward to actually go through with it. And that was also the first time Anthony learned the truth about Alastor; that he is a psychopath that can cut someone apart better than even the mob muscle and gangbangers up in New York, and a cannibal to boot. Anthony laughed at how crazy that was and that he still ended up seeking Alastor out after all of that. Maybe he was really the crazy one to stalk, try to get a serial killer to kill him, flirt with said serial killer, and eventually got the date he desired out of it. And that kiss. For a man that Anthony never saw have any interest in anyone, he knew how to kiss. Anthony’s toes curled at the memory of it.

He raised the decanter back to his mouth and drank more of it back. A haze encroached on his mind, slowing it and causing his attention span to become non-existent as he sank against the railings. The coolness on his behind and back relaxed him. The french doors to the balcony widened and Stolas stood with his robe back wrapped around himself. His pale skin shone in the soft moonlight. 

“What are you doing out here?” He asked. 

“Gettin’ drunk off my ass. Wanna join?” Anthony held up the mostly empty decanter. He knew his speech must’ve been slurred by the look on Stolas’s face and the time it took for him to recognize what Anthony said. “It’s your money payin’ for it.” 

“You’re going to catch a cold sitting out here mostly naked.”

“That’s old wives’ bullshit. I’m perfectly comfortable.” 

Stolas crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head with a chuckle. “Angel, come inside, please. It’ll keep me from worrying about your health out here.” 

“Fine.” Anthony tried to stand, but ended up falling onto his hands and knees. The decanter and its stopped rolling away. A small stream of rust colored booze ran its way from the lip of the decanter to the edge of the balcony and dripped below. 

“Do you need some help?”

“No. I got this. Just fuckin’ watch me.” 

Anthony stumbled his way to standing and took a step, then another, before his knees gave out and he tumbled forward. Stolas caught him under his shoulders and kept him from face planting. The sheet tangled its way around Anthony’s ankles and knees, making it hard for him to make large steps. Instead of walking back to the bedroom, he half shuffled, half was carried there. He collapsed onto the mattress face first and sighed into the soft bedding. Anthony scooted his legs up and onto the bed turning until he ended up more trapped in the sheet as if it was a net. 

“Would you like more help?”

“No. Yes. No.” Anthony groaned. “Fine.” 

He slapped the pillow above his head with both hands and straightened out his legs and hips to the best of his drunken ability. Stolas unraveled him from the sheet until Anthony could move all of his limbs again. Stolas’s gaze traveled up Anthony’s body untilit came to rest upon his chest. Anthony wiggled, assuming that he was taking a good look at the good and decided he might try to show them off. 

“How did you get that? Was it something that man, Valentino did to you?” 

“Whatcha mea--oh yeah. That. That’s ‘cause I’m Valentino’s belonging. Or as Rosie calls me, his pet.” 

Stolas tilted his head to the side. “Who is Rosie?”

“Another one of the big mobsters, hah, mobsters sounds a lot like lobsters. She’s also Alastor’s best friend.” 

“And who is Alastor.”

A grin spread on Anthony’s face. One that brightened his features and caused dimples to deepen in his cheek. “He’s the man I fancy. Heh, fancy. Funny way of sayin’ I wanna fuck the guy. Though, he probably wouldn’t let me. Fuck ‘im, I mean. Ain’t his style.” 

“I think it might be time for you to get some sleep.”

“Don’t got the time. Driver comes soon.”

Anthony tried to sit up, but Stolas placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from moving much more. “How about this, I pay the bit extra for your time and you can then sleep?”

“Why’d ya do that?”

“Because you look like you need it.” 

Anthony sunk deeper into the mattress, letting it caress and envelope him. The booze that swished in his gut and warmed his insides helped in soothing him enough to let him close his eyes and focus on the heaviness in his limbs and eyelids. He didn’t try to sleep nor could he remember exactly when it happened, but before he knew it, he passed out surrounded in luxury sheets, down stuffed pillows, and achingly soft blankets.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in with our favorite serial killer. I appreciate all the comments and love so much! It really keeps me going and makes me think that this story and all I have planned is worth it. I love the support and every wo reads this fills my heart with love and joy. Please enjoy!

It was a face that Alastor recognized well. The same high, soft cheekbones. The same button nose. His eyes set deeper into his face, hooded with purplish bags and long lashes. His chin was more prominent and his face elongated in comparison. His hair was a dusty brown that was slicked back under a fedora. He was taller, closer to Alastor’s height. Alastor turned his attention away from the man’s face to the gun barrel pressed into his brow ridge. 

“Drop the bag. What the fuck are ya doin’ here?”

“House hunting. I am looking into seeing if there are any good apartments or houses in this area.” Alastor let the duffle fall off his shoulders. 

The man, Alessandro, raised a skeptical brow. “In this piece of shit neighborhood? Try harder. This time give me the truth.” He pressed the gun into his forehead harder. 

“I do not think you will take anything I have to say very well. I do not have any particular death wish, so I think it might be within my best interest not to say anything.”

“Fine. Then I’ll shoot ya and forget the questions.”

Right as Alessandro moved to pull the trigger, Alastor rammed the heel of his hand into Alessandro’s wrist, causing the gun to move out of the way of his forehead as it fired. He felt the searing pain as the bullet brushed the cusp of his ear. He ignored the pain, the trickle of blood he felt run down the side of his face and down his neck, and the ringing in his ear from the gunshot, focusing on slamming his other hand into the top of the gun, pointing it at the ground as another shot went off. Alastor twisted the wrist holding the revolver until it let go of the revolver and he kicked it as it went sliding across the pavement. Alessandro twisted his wrist back, holding it at an angle that kept Alastor’s immobile as he slammed his fist into Alastor’s diaphragm. Alastor’s breath hitched and he wheezed, but had no time to focus on that as he raised his free hand to block that punch coming for his throat and face. 

Alessandro let go of Alastor to continue his barrage, aiming his fists for his throat, gut, face, anything he could reach. Alastor kept his arms off in a defensive position to shield his most important features from the onslaught. All he had to do was wait it out. Ignore the pain and the aching in his body until Alessandro slowed for the fraction of a second to give Alastor space to move. He dropped his arm to block the kick to his side and caught the leg, twisting it to hopefully have his opponent lose his balance, it helped, but Alessandro stubbornly stayed on his feet. Alessandro landed a hit across Alastor’s jaw, slamming his head to the side and pressing the inside of his cheek against his teeth until it tore. Another punch and another block. Alastor threw a couple of his own, landing on the gut and the shoulder, but mostly he was stuck on the defensive. That was until something in him shifted and changed. He slipped out of his radio host persona and into someone much deadlier, angrier, and used the pain as justification for the dark, malicious hunger rolling under his skin. 

As Alessandro dropped back to catch his breath, out of range of Alastor, but still kept his hands up, Alastor took this opportunity to rush into him. He wrapped his arms around Aleesandro’s waist and they tumbled to the ground. One moment he was on top of Alessandro, the next he was on his back, another moment and they flipped again. Alastor sat on his hips, pinning him down by the pelvis and began his own barrage. He threw punch after punch even as the skin ripped on his knuckles and began to bleed. Alessandor threw up his hands to block it, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would stop Alastor as he grinned and beat this man. Blood trickled down Alastor’s neck and soaked into the collar of his sweater and filled his mouth with enough blood from the torn gums and cheek that he spit it onto Alessandro, as he couldn’t take his gaze away from his prey for even a moment. His grin stained with blood. He ran his tongue over his teeth, loving the coppery tang of his own blood. The look in his eye was enough for anyone to realize that he was out for blood and nothing would stop him. 

Alastor held up on the punches as Alessandro groaned beneath him, but he wasn’t done. He didn’t have a weapon on him, as they were all in the duffle bag he had discarded. He would have to do it the old fashioned way. Alastor wrapped his hands around Alessandro’s and squeezed. Alessandro’s eyes widened in shock and fear, pulling against Alastor’s grip, digging his nails into the fabric of his sweater and gloves. Alastor relished in the dark look of utter terror that people had when they knew they were about to die and it only made him put more pressure on the throat shifting and deflating beneath his hands. Alessandro groaned and tried to suck in air through clenched teeth to no avail. 

His face began to shift, becoming softer with the high curve of the cheek bones and the rounder edge of the chin. His hair lightened and elongated, twisting into fluffy curls. Those brown eyes that spoke of anger and fear changed until he stared into the greyish blue and endless brown heterochromia that he almost memorized. The groaning became more personal. The nails digging into his clothes became softer, more hesitant. Alastor released his grip out of shock and dropped his hands to his side before pressing the palms of them into his eyes. 

Alessandro came back into view when Alastor opened his eyes. He sputtered and groaned, choking in air. Alastor looked at his face thoroughly, but any sign of Angel seemed to disappear as quickly as them came. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and regain a connection to reality and the man below him. 

“Don’t got the balls to do it, huh?” Alessandro rasped, trying to struggle under Alastor’s weight, but didn’t put up even close to as much strength in the fight as before. 

He whispered. “Do you have a brother?” 

“The fuck? Why ya askin’--”

“Do you have a brother?” Alastor shouted. “Do you have a brother?”

Alessandro nodded hesitantly. “I got one. Younger. Haven’t seen ‘im in years, though.” 

“What is his name?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“Just tell me his name.” Alastor breathed. “Please tell me his name.” 

“Anthony.” 

Alastor grabbed his glasses from the inside of his jacket and placed them over his nose and pushed them up his face. He pulled himself up and off Alessandro, adjusting his jacket and shirt as he did, making sure that nothing looked out of place. Alastor hid the grimace as pain shot through his face and stomach and mouth. Already felt the bruises forming and the ache in his teeth. He ran his tongue along them to make sure that none had been dislodged in the scuffle. Alastor knew he would have to get cleaned up before anything else, otherwise it wouldn’t look very good to walk around the public like he had just gotten into a fight.He grabbed the revolver from where it had been discarded and emptied the chamber of bullets. He set it next to Alessandro as he struggled into sitting, touching softly at his throat. 

He grabbed his duffle bag and turned to walk away when Alessandro called out to him, “Why do ya care if I have a brother?”

“Because you look a lot like him. It is not my business to mess with his familial affairs.”

Alessandro struggled to his feet, wrapping an arm around his midsection. “Wait. You’ve seen him? Anthony?”

Alastor stood still, but refused to answer. He knew that Angel had some bad family relations, and that was how he ended up in New Orleans, but he didn’t know to what extent or what he should say, so he opted to say nothing at all. 

“Fine. But is he alright? Safe, I mean. Or as safe as he could be. He always had the bad habit of gettin’ into shit.” 

“He is alright.” 

“Ya must know ‘im pretty well to not feel like killin’ me. ‘Specially after that look on ya face. How well do ya know ‘im?” 

“He...He is a friend of mine.” Alastor felt the weight of the word on his chest and how it soured in his mouth at the inaccuracy of it. He shifted the duffle bag on his shoulder. “I have no quarrel with you, so I will be on my way.” 

Alastor was almost out of the alley behind the apartment building, and almost out of ear shot before he heard Alessandro call out to him again. “Wait. Tell me more ‘bout Tony. If not for me, do it for Molly, his sister.”

He took a deep sigh, pushing his glasses down on his nose to punch the bridge between his eyes. This was the last thing he wanted. Alastor had no desire to get in the middle of Angel’s family affairs. It wasn’t his taste or his style. But he did remember Angel mentioning Molly. The look of soft love and loss in his eyes. Maybe a little information could be shared; especially if he was right about how Angel felt about his twin sister and how he missed her. 

“Alright. Follow me. I am hungry and tired, so I do not wish to continue this conversation here.”

Alessandro caught up to Alastor, “So where ya thinkin’ of goin’? We can’t walk into a fuckin’ place lookin’ like this. They’ll ask too many bullshit questions.” 

“If they ask, we shall answer. Are you going to follow or not?”

Alessandro huffed and opened the chamber of the revolver to spin it and check if it was empty. He shoved it into the back of his waistband and flicked the tail of the pinstriped suit coat back over his pants line. Alastor kept a complacent grin on his face as he watched. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants and curled his back into a slouch as he strolled up beside Alastor. 

“So, where we goin’?” 

Alastor could hear the same accent that was heavy in Angel’s voice in his brother’s. However, where Angel had a beautiful mixture of the masculine aggression and the higher feminine pitch, Alessandro ended up all gruff and grit and he looked so much like a stereotypical mobster that Alastor was surprised he didn’t get pulled over by every cop anywhere he went. The suit. The fedora. The greased back hair and bad attitude. It all screamed mobster. Alastor wouldn’t be surprised to find this man as the go to reference when someone talks about italian mobs. Alastor led them back out of the heavy density of warehouses to a familiar little diner around the corner. 

The bell tinkled over his head as he stepped in and he found the same both as before empty and ready for him. He took a seat, sliding the duffle under his feet and gestured for Alessandro to sit across from him. He pulled out one of the menus and idly scanned over the words he read through earlier. Nothing about it had changed since a couple hours previously, but he wasn’t ready to talk with Alessandro, or hear what he had to say, and the whole silent and mysterious thing seems to rub him the wrong way. If Alastor was known for his smile then Alessandro should be known for his intense scowl. Only intensified by the scrunching of his dark and bushy eyebrows. 

“What the fuck are we doin’ ‘ere? Ya think this some kind of game? I just wanted to talk about my fuckin’ brother.” 

“Calm your horses. I thought that this would be a much safer place for us to converse. I was also itching for a good cup of coffee.” 

The waitress, the same one as before, gave them a sigh and a disappointed look as she set down a small wicker basket filled with pain killers, gauze, medical tape, adhesive bandages, and antiseptic. 

“Rosie said you have the habit of getting into trouble. Though I think she used one of those fancier words of her, propensity, or whatever. Just clean yourselves up.”

“Thank you, my dear. I will send my regards to Rosie about your wonderful personality and smile.”

The waitress rolled her eyes and her expression soured. She walked away with her notebook placed in the strap of her apron, splayed across her chest. The book of the book had a small drawn single stemmed rosebud with the stem that curled into an infinity sign. Long Live the Queen. It was her classic symbol for anyone in her organization to look for in case they needed someplace safe to go. Rosie had bought most of the staff in the diner, and if she didn’t, she made sure that those people weren’t called into work or had any shifts on that particular weekend. 

“Rosie? As in Rosie Vivant?”

The waitress came back with two mugs and a pot of drip coffee and a small pitcher of milk along with a canister of white sugar. She poured them each a cup before leaving them without either ordering or expressing any desire for anything. 

“Thank you again, dear.” Alastor breathed in the scent of freshly brewed coffee. It warmed his face and calmed the nerves in his gut. 

“Start talkin’, Alastor.” 

“You were the one who asked to speak with me. I think you should begin.” Alastor poured a bit of cream into his coffee, watching it swirl and lighten. “Unless you have somewhere else to be. I do not mean to hold you up. It only seemed that I had information you wanted.” 

Alessandro ignored his coffee and rested his head on his hands, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Ya right. I wanted to talk to ya ‘bout Tony. Ya probably don’t even have anythin’ ya need from me. But tell me somethin’, are ya workin’ with Rosie Vivant? Is that why ya shot that guy?”

“I have no idea what you are insinuating. I have not shot anyone.” 

“Fine. I’ll deal with that fuckin’ disaster on my own. Pop’s gonna be pissed, though. We really wanted that info on Vivant’s network down in the south. Eh, that’s not what I wanna talk ‘bout anyways. Where’s Tony? Where’d he end up I mean?”

“I do not think he would appreciate me telling you that. So, next question.” 

“Fine. We’ll go with hte fuckin’ basics.” Alessandro sighed. “Is he alive?”

“Very much so.” 

“And ya said he was safe. Well, sorta. Say more on that.” 

Alastor took a long sip of his coffee. “Ang--Anthony is as safe as he lets himself be. I cannot and do not want to control his life, so the decisions he makes about his own health and safety is up to him. However, there are some people in his life that he could surely do without at the moment.” 

“Is he still usin’?”

“If you mean drugs and alcohol. I do think that he has a very high usage of such items, but that is not uncommon in this time or this culture.”

“Does Tony...is Tony…” He sighed. “Is he still a bit, ya know, different?”

“If you mean homosexual, I would say that he have a high proclivity for relations of that nature, however I do no appreciate the judge that you seemed to place on that.” 

Alessandro slammed his hand on the table. “That makes so fuckin’ sense. None of whatcha say does. Stop talkin’ like that and tell me the fuckin’ truth ‘bout my brother and no more fancy language bullshit. It’s been four whole fuckin’ years since I saw my little brother and I got this,” He gestured in Alastor’s direction. “Asshole actin’ like an older brother can’t learn any bit ‘bout him brother without him gettin’ in the fuckin’ way.” 

“I do apologize. However, I am under the understanding that Anthony and his family did not get along, so I only wish to protect him from more harm from you.” Alastor narrowed his gaze and raised his grin. “Why do you think that you have the right to know about Anthony when it is in fact a privilege that he had revoked from you?”

“‘Cause I miss that fuckin’ idiot. I’m his big brother and I was supposed to protect ‘im. Ya know what I did instead? I let my dad beat him black and blue and into multiple concussions and I did nothin’ to stop ‘im. I didn’t help Anthony then, so I wanna do everythin’ in my power to stop that from happenin’ again. Tony didn’t deserve it. But I did. We all deserved ‘im disappearin’ like that. ‘Cept for Molly. She’s been heartbroken ever sense.” He shouted before taking a deep breath to calm himself. “When I found out Tony was gone. I confronted my father. Blamed ‘im for it. Then I went lookin’ for ‘im, but I found nothin’. I never expected ‘im to be gone forever. I thought a few days, maybe a few weeks at most, but nothin’ like this. I beat my dad until my knuckles were raw after that. I got kicked out for awhile, but Pops eventually caved and let me back in ‘cause he needed a fuckin’ heir and also Molly forced his hand. I just wanna make sure that Tony’s doin’ better than he did in New York. So, I know I can stop lookin’ for ‘im.” 

Alastro downed his cup of coffee and stared into the bottom of the ceramic mug. “There are many things I do not know about Anthony, but I do know one thing, that there is still a long way for him to go. Myself included. Anthony is working and has made a good amount of friends where he has relocated. I happen to be one of them. He does not talk much about his past or where he came from or his family. I think he would be happy to hear that you have not given up on him. I will let him know that his sister and brother both miss him.” 

“Thank ya for that.” Alessandro looked at Alastor long and hand. “Why didn’t ya do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill me. Ya looked ready to for a bit there and I gotta say I’m surprised.”

“It is not my place to kill you. It would be Anthony’s decision to want you dead, not mine. However, I would appreciate it if you could keep Rosie’s name out of your report to your father and that other crime family you were working with. She is not supposed to have any connection to this event.” 

“I can do that for a friend of Tony’s.”

Alastor stood up, exiting the booth. “Wait here a moment. I need to do something quickly.” 

He aimed for the saloon style door that led into the back of the diner and the kitchen. He dodged waitresses, busboys, and line cooks for the office he knew was in the back. It smelled of bacon grease, maple syrup, and burned vegetable fat. Along with the delicious scent of a new pot of roasted coffee. Alastor almost ended up colliding with a high strung, petite waitress, but narrowly turned to avoid her. He ducked into the office, slipping the door closed behind him to block out the clatter of dishes and knives, the yelling of orders between waitresses and cooks and back between other of the line cooks, to the gossip of the busboys deciding which waitress suited their perverted tastes better. Alastor grabbed the base of the telephone tucked into the corner of the desk and dialed a number he swore he would now never forget. 

“If this is Dick calling again, for the fifth fucking time, I don’t want what you're offering, jackass, go find some other hooker.”

“Miss Cherry, you have the wrong person on the line, I presume.” 

“Oh, it’s Chuckles Leveau, I thought Angie said you were out of town. Why are you calling?”

“Is Angel there? I must speak with him. It is important and urgent.” 

He could practically see her rolling her eyes at the other end of the line with the loud sigh she gave him. “Angie’s working tonight. All night from what he said. Valentino pulled him a big and rich client. No clue who it is. Just some bored fuckwad with too much money and time on his hands probably.” 

“Fine. Then you will have to do as you know Angel better than myself. Has Angel ever mentioned his relationship with his brother?” 

“Yeah. He mentioned him a few times when he got too drunk and too depressed. It turned out that his older brother might not have stopped the abuse, but he always was the one to pick Angie up at the end of the day. He applied badanges, stitched him up more than once, cared for him even when he thought Angel was unconscious. It took him a second to get used to Angie being, well, fucking Angie. But he came around eventually. Why are you asking?”

“I believe I have just gotten into a fist fight with him and now we are talking.”

“You fuckin faught Angie’s older brother?! That’s fucking genius. Good on you Chuckles.” 

“So, I assume that Angel does not want his brother to know where he lives or any personal information.” 

“Yeah,” Cherry sneezed on the other end of the line. “If he wanted his family to know where he is, he would have told them himself. Stay out of his family affairs.” 

“Oh, I plan on it. From now on at least.” 

“Good.” Cherry hung up her end of the line, leaving the telltale beep going on insistently on Alastor’s end of the line. 

Alastor put the telephone back where it was and waded through the minefield of the diner kitchen until he came back out on the floor. He aimed for his booth, to find it without its other occupant and the duffle looking untouched from its spot under the table. He sat back down to find a paper napkin placed under the edge of his coffee mug. On is, scribbled hastily and barely legible, was a phone number and address written on one side. Alastor flipped it over to see a small note written on the back that read: If the old man answers, hang up. He tucked it into his jacket pocket, folding it in half to protect the address and telephone number from smudging more. Alastor flagged down the waitress and ordered a plate of steak and eggs.


End file.
